Arusian Crusade: Deployment
by Aqua Lion
Summary: Before they were the Voltron Force, they were the Arus Expeditionary Force: five cadets trained for a mission so secret even they don't quite know what it is. They'll find out the hard way... and kick off a war beyond anything they imagined.
1. The Call Goes Out

**Arusian Crusade: Deployment**  
>Prologue: The Call Goes Out<p>

_This is pretty much best summed up as 'AU with elements of everything'.  
><em>_Golion? Check.  
><em>_DotU? Check.  
><em>_Comics? Check.  
><em>_Voltron Force? Check.  
><em>_V3D? ...a little tiny bit of a check, but please don't hold that against me._

* * *

><p>"How is it going, Lieutenant?"<p>

Lieutenant Brown jumped, taking a moment to recall where he was and figure out who was talking to him. His world for the past week had been nothing but a blur of personnel files, test scores, piloting reports, psych profiles... it took some time to remember he was located some_where_, living and breathing something other than intel. He blinked away afterimages from a monitor he'd been staring at for far too many hours straight, and looked up. General Wegener was standing in his doorway, watching him carefully.

"I think I'm finished. Just double checking everything."

"Finished already?" The general raised an eyebrow. "I'd like to see what you've come up with."

"Sir?" Brown hesitated. He'd known this was an important assignment—that was why he'd barely been out of the office for six days. But important enough for a general to be taking such a personal interest? That was something else entirely. "I, uh, of course. This is that serious?"

"Incredibly serious. Alfor's only been able to send us the vaguest hints about the nature of his project for fear of Drule interception, but the technical data is only a small part of the equation. All his indications are that this is a game-changer—and he knows the Drules, especially the Ninth Kingdom, better than most of our analysts."

If nothing else, that news made Brown feel like all the time slaving away had been entirely worth it. He pulled up a stack of printouts and handed them to the general, gesturing to a seat. Pulling up the first profile himself, he took a deep breath and started talking.

"Keith Kogane. Command."

"Any relation to Air Commodore Kogane?"

"Her nephew." Brown had almost avoided the cadet for that reason, but he'd just fit the team too perfectly. "He's basically level-headed, but has some idealistic tendencies, and prefers to be in the thick of the action with his teammates. Displays an excellent working knowledge of Drule culture, gets high marks in diplomacy, and is something of a martial arts and weapons expert." He frowned slightly. "I didn't assign a dedicated gunnery specialist for this mission, so his skill there would be crucial."

General Wegener raised an eyebrow. "No gunner?"

"No room for one. Arus only requested five pilots, and there were other priorities."

"Very well. Continue."

Second profile. "Sven Holgersson. Navigation."

The general cocked his head. "No kidding? I served with his father. His family has a long tradition of piloting service."

"Yessir." Privately, Brown wondered if that tradition might not be doing this cadet a _dis_service; all indications were that navigation was far from his first love. "He's a mathematics prodigy, and may already be one of the best navigators we have access to, cadet or not. Also solid in structural mechanics."

"How bad is the navigator problem?"

"It isn't." The 'navigator problem' was the tendency for interstellar navigation to attract a bunch of half-mad megalomaniacs who happened to be handy with numbers. But _that_ was hardly diplomatic. "He doesn't fit the typical psych profile at all, which I figured was another point in his favor."

"Good thinking."

Third profile. "Lance McClain. Piloting."

Wegener's expression flickered, just for an instant. "Pretty certain I've heard of this one."

"Probably. He nearly got expelled last year for buzzing the training compound after the Skybreakers rejected him for disciplinary reasons. Really just proved their reasoning was sound, but he also proved his own point: he's equal to any of our best forces in raw piloting skill. Also a solid gunner. He's currently on behavioral probation."

"You assigned him to make up for the fact that the navigator isn't insane?"

Brown chuckled. "McClain, Kogane, and Holgersson are already close friends. They have an excellent working relationship—if a little vitriolic at times—and by all accounts, the other two are the only people who can keep McClain under control." The Lieutenant's expression became serious again. "When the Fourth Kingdom carried out its warning strikes on the Valkan VI colony thirteen years ago, his village was one of the first destroyed. His main reason for being at the Academy is so that someday he can take some shots at the Drules. _Any_ Drules. In many ways this would be a dream assignment for him, and I expect he'd make the most of it."

The general nodded, though he still looked skeptical. "Go on."

Fourth profile. "Darrell Stoker. Engineering. His real name is Pidge, but he's a Yulie." A Yulie—ULI—was an undocumented legal immigrant: those who arrived on Earth through proper channels, but with no records of their life on their old world. They were assigned 'human' names during the immigration process, though few ever used them for anything but paperwork. "He's from Balto."

"Balto? That's unusual. Tenra or Sryka?"

"Crossbreed, which is why he didn't have any records, and why he came here in the first place." Balto was a rough backwater planet, inhabited by two races which despised each other. Crossbreeds rarely lived through their first year, and those who did found few opportunities on a world where they were seen as pitiable freaks at best. "He's brilliant even by the standards of the Tenra, though he doesn't seem to have developed their psychic abilities, and every bit as quick and tough as you'd expect of a Sryka. Specializes in computer science, and has been known to work some miracles."

Another nod. "He's rather young."

"Doesn't matter. He could've graduated last year if he'd wanted to, but he has a habit of retaking workshop classes rather than rushing through required content."

"Interesting. And the final candidate?"

Fifth profile. "Tsuyoshi Garrett, goes by the nickname Hunk. Engineering. Absolutely brilliant with physical systems, the bigger and more challenging the better. Joined the military because it gave him the biggest and most challenging hardware to work on."

The general was frowning again. "Hunk Garrett. I'm certain I've heard that name before too."

"It's possible. He was a champion crush car driver before he came here." Of course, Brown highly doubted his boss paid attention to that chaotic melee of a sport, but... "It made him a bit of a celebrity when he first enrolled, until the other students realized he didn't want the attention. He's a lot better with machines than with people."

"But you believe he'll fit in with this team?"

"Better than anywhere else, really. He and Pidge are roommates. They're said to be inseparable." He leaned back, looking away from the monitor again, and shrugged. "Besides, it's a small team, and they'll all have plenty of time to get comfortable around one another. As far as I can tell, the two groups haven't met, but the psych profiles indicate they'll mesh well."

Wegener considered this. "No gunner, but you've assigned two engineers?"

"With all due respect, sir, I've seen the cockpit schematics. I'd send five engineers if I could." He switched screens. "Garrett's piloting scores are a little lower than the others, but his gunnery covers for it, he can dismantle anything he gets a good look at. Between him and Kogane I'd say it's covered. Shouldn't be an issue once they reach Arus in any case, should it? King Alfor's running single-pilot ships."

"That's true." The general stood and nodded. "Call them all in, then. I want you to report to Colonel Hawkins in Complex D, 308A. Give him the personnel files and brief him. You two will be in charge of the training; he'll get you up to speed on the finer points. The mission begins tomorrow."

Lieutenant Brown nodded and snapped off a salute. "Yessir."

* * *

><p>The campus of the Alliance Academy was a massive, sprawling mess of buildings, parks, tarmac, and the occasional run-down lot that hadn't quite been developed yet. One of these lots, a small fenced-in area just south of an auxiliary hangar, had been staked out by a trio of cadets. Their own personal refuge in the sea of people, work, and occasional madness that made up academy life.<p>

Sitting on a broken slab of concrete, the first to arrive waited patiently. Mostly patiently. His pale blue eyes were narrowed as he studied every possible path to the lot, as if he were expecting an attack fleet rather than two friends to drop in. He pulled his red flight jacket closer as the wind whistled by him, ruffling his dark hair; winter was approaching quicker than expected.

The auburn-haired figure who turned up at the lot next was also wearing a jacket, though it had nothing to do with the cold. All fashion for this one. His dark eyes carried a mischievous glint, and his aura was as tough and rugged as it was carefully cultivated.

Quick greetings were exchanged, but nothing else; it was an unwritten rule that no business was to be conducted without all three present. 'Business' usually just meant complaining about classes, but then, such things _were_ important. For as long as humans had had educational institutions, there had been complaining students. Why argue with tradition?

Finally the third member of their trio came sprinting in, still wearing his academy uniform, and skidded to a halt in a patch of gravel which nearly sent him face-first to the ground. His hair and eyes were jet black, matching the black navigation patch on his shoulder. When he spoke, it was in a heavy Scandinavian accent, a jarring contrast to his sharply Asian features. "Sorry. Captain McKallon still doesn't believe in clocks."

The brown-haired one snorted. "Sure, sure. Blame the lunatic teaching the lunatic class. We know, Sven."

"It's not a _lunatic class_, Lance. You're not in it."

"Oof, you wound me."

For the first time, their ice-eyed companion chuckled. "Sure he does, Lance. Sure he does. So what have you gotten us all into this time?" Keith held up a slip of paper, printed out from his room's main comm set. "Cadets Kogane, Holgersson, and McClain to report to Colonel Hawkins—a colonel!—at 0900 hours tomorrow. Priority alpha. Seriously, there's got to be a better way to get out of tactical theory."

"Now wait just a minute!" Lance flopped out comfortably in a patch of grass that had been exposed by broken pavement. "I don't know why you're blaming _me_ for this."

Sven arched an eyebrow, took up a position leaning against the fence, and crossed his arms. "Probably because we've spent more than five minutes with you?"

"Ahhh. Yeah, that _would_ do it." Lance hesitated and his sparkling eyes became serious. "But honestly, I haven't done anything lately. This might actually be important."

They lapsed into silence, considering that possibility, then shifted to other topics.

* * *

><p>Basement rooms were not high-prestige. They were, however, undeniably cool. At least to the minds of the only two who'd <em>requested<em> such housing arrangements, and thus found themselves rooming together in the lowest level of the engineering dorms. The sign on their door said **THE DUNGEON** in huge, bold letters. It didn't exactly invite company, but they weren't worried about company. Actually, company would usually be an unwelcome distraction.

Sprawled on one of the beds was a boy with wild light brown hair and piercing green eyes, covered by owlish glasses. At first glance he would've appeared to simply be a young human. It would take very close study to see the slight differences—the fact that even for someone his age, he was a little too small, and his initially fragile-looking body was all muscle and sharp angles. He was staring at the ceiling, but not seeing it.

Seated cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against the other bed, was a young man who was as much larger than the average cadet as his companion was smaller. His hair was dark and messy, held back from his hazel eyes by a strip of red cloth, and his gaze darted between his roommate and the monitor on the floor in front of him.

On the outside, they had nothing in common.

On the outside.

Hunk finally pushed the computer away. "0900 hours on a Tuesday. Commander Tetsuya is gonna have a fit."

"What, just because we've already skipped more of his classes than we've shown up for?" Pidge kept his eyes on the ceiling. "Whose brilliant idea was it to take military history with the most evil instructor in the Academy, anyway?"

"I think that was you, little buddy. Something about turning a boring class into an interesting challenge?"

"Oh yeah. Right." Sigh. "He can't argue with priority alpha orders th... oh, what am I saying? We're doomed."

"Doomed," Hunk agreed. "If all else fails, the rest of the class would probably approve if we broke his neck."

"Don't tempt me."

"Sorry."

For awhile they were quiet again; they didn't need _words_ to commiserate. At precisely the same moment, they both decided they were done sulking, pulled out some tools, and went to work on an unidentifiable hulk of metal in the corner. It was just another normal day in the Dungeon.

Maybe the last normal day.


	2. Mission Parameters

**Arusian Crusade: Deployment**  
>Chapter 1: Mission Parameters<p>

* * *

><p>The morning started out well; Keith's alarm clock had chosen the worst possible day to die. They weren't exactly <em>late<em> to their priority alpha appointment. They weren't early, either.

Colonel Hawkins was waiting for them in the briefing room. Sven studied him as thoroughly as possible without staring; he had the look of one who'd clawed his way up through the combat ranks to reach his place. No nonsense here. He didn't look like the kind of man who would get roped into a disciplinary action. Not that they'd ever seriously been blaming Lance for the summons, but... maybe half seriously.

It had happened before.

There was another man in the room, smaller than Hawkins and a bit nervous-looking, with a shoulder patch that identified him as a lieutenant. He was holding a clipboard and attempting to look very serious, as if that would hide the fact that he couldn't be much older than the cadets themselves.

While Sven was still observing things, Keith stepped forward and saluted. "Cadets Kogane, Holgersson, and McClain, reporting as ordered, sir."

Hawkins calmly waved them to chairs. "Good morning, gentlemen. Have a seat, we're still waiting for—"

Before he could finish the sentence the door swung open again, admitting two bedraggled-looking cadets, panting for breath, who snapped off hasty salutes before they even looked up. Both wore green engineering badges, but otherwise they were a study in contrasts—one enormous and powerfully built, the other short and wiry and startlingly young.

"Cadets Stoker and Garrett... reporting... sir!" the small one gasped. "Apologies for being late... sir... Commander Tetsuya thought we hacked the priority orders... sir!"

"A kid and a giant, huh?" Lance whispered, just loud enough for his two friends to hear.

"Little one's not human," Keith hissed back. Sven could not even fathom how his friend could tell that, but took his word for it. It was _always_ best to assume Keith knew what he was talking about.

Hawkins merely studied the newcomers for a moment, expression unreadable. "At ease, cadets." His gaze zeroed in on the one who'd been speaking so far. "You do go by Stoker, then?"

"In, uh, formal situations, sir."

"Calling this a formal situation might be something of a stretch, cadet. If the two of you would have a seat we can get started."

"Must be a Yulie," Keith mumbled before the other two could even give him questioning looks.

Hawkins stood and swept his gaze over the room. "First things first. The five of you are here because you've been chosen to form a special combat detachment. This assignment will involve being placed outside of both the standard Academy curriculum and, ultimately, the regular Alliance chain of command—and on the front lines of the conflict with the Drule Supremacy, should it reignite. If any of you object to any of this, _now_ is the time to speak up."

The room could not have gone more silent if every one of its occupants had dropped dead. Keith was the first to stammer out what everyone was thinking. "With... with all due respect, sir, that's an awful lot to take in and not a lot of time to do it."

"Take some time, then," the colonel answered simply.

The other two—Garrett, and Stoker or whatever his name was—had put their heads together and were muttering about it. Sven avoided looking at either Lance or Keith, at least briefly. He already knew where his gut feeling was taking him, and he was pretty sure he knew what his friends were thinking as well.

It was an enticing offer. Not on its own merits, not really. Hawkins hadn't told them enough about its merits in any case. But enticing because it was so mysterious, and so... _odd_.

There had been a Holgersson piloting for the Alliance for five generations, and Sven had never exactly been given an _option_ on being the sixth. This was his duty. He took it seriously, even occasionally managed to take some pride in it—but as carefully as he walked the line of loyalty, it was not where he'd have chosen to take his life. And so he took every small opportunity for independence that he could.

This was a rather _large_ opportunity. To serve the Alliance as he was required, but also... perhaps... to do something interesting. Hopefully something more inspiring than years upon years of mapping the same interstellar jumps for some supply fleet.

He looked to Keith. "What do you think?"

Keith's eyes narrowed. "We all swore an oath when we enlisted. To go anywhere, perform any task, assume any burden. I intend to fulfill that oath."

Pretty much what Sven had expected. There were twice as many Koganes in the Alliance's history as there were Holgerssons, after all, and Keith guarded his honor as if his life depended on it.

Both of them looked to Lance. The cheerful spark usually present in his eyes had vanished, replaced by a blazing ferocity. "If we get to kill Drules, I'm in."

Also pretty much as expected. Disturbing. But expected.

Sven merely nodded his own acceptance of the proposal, and they turned back to look at Hawkins. After another minute or so, the other two also looked up. "We're game."

"Excellent. Everything that follows is to be considered classified at the highest levels." Hawkins began typing on his wristcomp; the viewscreen at the front of the room sprang to life. It displayed a planet that looked similar to Earth, though with a bit more land coverage. "This is Altea II, better known as Arus. It's a hereditary monarchy, largely agrarian. Raw technology is at about Industrial Revolution levels, but it has a very strong technomystical branch and a highly educated society."

_Altea?_ Sven frowned. There was no such star... unless... he grimaced. "Extragalactic?"

Hawkins seemed to have been expecting that. "Yes. Part of the Denubian galaxy."

_Wonderful. Five minutes in and we're talking __intergalactic__ jumps_. Sven was not familiar with the Denubian galaxy, but he had a sinking feeling he was about to be.

"The primary power in the Denubian is the Ninth Kingdom of the Drule Supremacy. It's traditionally the weakest of the Supremacy's holdings, but for about a decade King Zarkon has been on a campaign of rapid expansion, taking almost thirty unaffiliated worlds in the Denubian with no sign of slowing. Arus is of minimal tactical importance _now_, but within the next two years it will become the proverbial dagger at Zarkon's throat." Hawkins' eyes narrowed. "Assuming, of course, that Zarkon doesn't decide to just conquer it first."

Now it was Keith's turn to break in. "Would he really attack an Alliance world that easily? I mean, all we keep hearing in poli sci is that the Drules don't want open war."

"The Drules as a whole do not, for the moment. But the other kingdoms have their own problems. All our intel indicates they're in no position to reign the Ninth in, and they've hinted at the same in diplomatic contact. Anything Zarkon does is on his own head."

The lieutenant in the back of the room spoke for the first time. "The Ninth Kingdom considers the Alliance to be something of a paper tiger. Unfortunately, in the case of the Denubian, they're largely correct."

Hawkins nodded a confirmation of that assessment. "We can't afford to send a defensive fleet to Arus. The logistical support just isn't there. Not now, not in the foreseeable future. We're still rebuilding from the Rift War, as you're all well aware—it's mostly smoke and mirrors convincing the Drules they want no part of us right now."

"So you're sending Arus five cadets who can't do anything, just for kicks?" Lance blurted. Sven elbowed him.

The colonel seemed oddly unperturbed by this. Strange mission, strange commander. "We've been in contact with King Alfor, the ruler of Arus. He's been developing a secretive defense system for some time. We've been sent cockpit schematics, and Alfor is now requesting five specially trained pilots to operate these craft. That's where you five come in."

Silence again. "He's got _five ships_ that he thinks are gonna fight off an entire Drule invasion?" the big engineer finally asked, in a voice that was surprisingly soft.

"Precisely." Hawkins hesitated. "I can't overstate this. The schematics we've received are unlike anything we've ever seen. The mission profile of the ships is impossible. But King Alfor is a man of impeccable integrity, and we know very little about Arusian technomysticism. He believes this project will not only save his own world, but could bring massive benefits to the Alliance as a whole."

Lance's eyes had lit up when Hawkins started discussing the ships; piloting something so exotic was almost as exciting as the prospect of killing Drules. Sven felt it too, though certainly less than his friend did—it was intriguing, no doubt. Fascinating, even. But something didn't quite seem to line up...

He glanced over the five cadets and counted exactly one blue piloting patch between them.

The others had noticed too. "Sir, just one thing, if Arus wants five pilots..." The little one leaned back in his chair. "Hunk—uh—Cadet Garrett and I aren't pilots."

"Maybe not, but your basic training scores were admirable," the lieutenant commented. When all eyes turned on him he seemed to finally realize he'd forgotten something. "Sorry. I'm Lieutenant Brown; I did the personnel research for this mission."

Hawkins leaned forward. "You may as well forget everything you know about traditional Alliance piloting systems. That's how different these plans are. You _will_ be the only Alliance personnel on Arus, and we want all our bases covered. Given that, our intent is to send an elite, well-rounded force, basically a special ops unit."

"An elite force of cadets?" Lance snorted.

"You'll be elite enough when we get through with you, McClain." The colonel frowned. "God help us."

"I already said I'd help you." Now it was Keith's turn to elbow him.

Mercifully, Hawkins ignored that. "As I said, you'll be outside the normal chain of command, under King Alfor's direct authority. We decided to pull cadets who could be specially trained from the start, rather than soldiers already entrenched in Alliance routines. And now," a steely glint appeared in his eyes, "you know all the details. If there are any objections to this assignment, this is your last chance to voice them."

Sven couldn't think of any objections—beyond the fact that intergalactic jumps were hell, but that was hardly sufficient to back out of the mission. The intensity in Keith's gaze matched the colonel's, and Lance seemed to be overflowing with excitement. Mysterious spacecraft and killing Drules. It did not get any better than that.

When nobody spoke, Hawkins nodded as if he'd been expecting just that. And he probably had. "This room is free for another half hour; you five may as well get acquainted. Your training will begin next week, once your new schedules are sorted out..." He gave the two engineers a significant look. "_I_ will see to the arrangements with your instructors."

They looked very relieved.

Keith took the lead once the officers were out of the room, turning to the two engineers and extending a hand. "My name's Keith; this is Sven and Lance."

The big engineer shook the hand he'd offered. "Everyone calls me Hunk."

"I'm Pidge," the little one added, hopping out of his chair and taking a seat on the briefing table instead.

Keith focused on Pidge. "If you don't mind me asking, what planet are you from?"

He looked startled at the question; maybe _he_ couldn't figure out how Keith had caught that so quickly either. "Balto. Uh, Kaasen IV." Another star Sven had never heard of. He was quickly getting tired of that, but... "It's actually in the Denubian also. Never heard of Arus, though."

"That makes five of us," Lance shrugged, then turned his attention to Hunk, eyes sparkling with excitement. "So... would you happen to be _the_ Hunk Garrett? The four year crush car grand champion Hunk Garrett?"

The big man actually blushed. "Uh... I... yeah, that's me."

Sven found the reaction odd. Crush car drivers were one of the few professions more reliably insane than interstellar navigators; a shy one didn't seem to mesh at all. Lance's thoughts seemed to be on a similar track. "Dude, that's not a bad thing."

Glancing between Hunk and Lance, Pidge chuckled. "Be careful with that," he advised, "once Hunk gets used to you he'll never shut up about the crush cars."

That got him a mock offended look. "How am I supposed to shut up about them when you keep asking me to tell you stories four times a week?"

"Details, details."

Immediately Lance switched his attention to Pidge. "Can't you talk him into telling some stories _now_?"

Keith and Sven exchanged amused glances. "Looks like this ought to go alright," Sven observed dryly.

"Alright?" Keith repeated. "I'd say it looks like the start of a beautiful friendship. I just hope Lance remembers we've actually got to start doing work sooner or later."

Work. Right.

_That_ part ought to be interesting.

* * *

><p>King Alfor of Arus may have been a man of impeccable integrity, but he liked his secrets. Pidge could understand the need to keep things quiet if a Drule king was eying him, but seriously. The Alliance had the cockpit schematics but hardly knew anything about the ships the cockpits went to.<p>

So the Alliance scientists programming the sims had simply made most of it up. And probably hadn't done too badly, all things considered... the craft they'd come up with had redundant drive thrusters in strange places, and weapons that seemed to overlap in ways physics didn't allow for. As Hawkins had said, the performance profiles were impossible, but then... Pidge had taken an overview course on technomysticism. It had mostly taught him the Alliance didn't know much about the discipline in general, and a specific Arusian branch hadn't even been mentioned.

Perhaps all this made sense on Arus, but that made it even stranger to not tell the Alliance everything. As it was, it felt like they were all flying blind, because they pretty much were.

"Everyone in formation. Activate omega protocols."

Keith was taking it quite seriously, anyway. Keith took most things seriously.

Falling into formation and triggering the systems which comprised the so-called omega protocols, Pidge considered the team. The new ones, anyway. Hunk was his dearest friend at the academy—his _only_ friend here, admittedly—and the two of them had forged into this together, the only way they did anything. No need to wonder about that one.

Keith was a good commander, but he could really use a personality. Surely one would spring up eventually. They usually did, once you got to know people. He just played everything close.

Lance was a maniac. A great pilot, but a maniac. Having him around was going to keep things interesting, without doubt; perhaps that was why he and Keith were a package deal. Lance had enough personality for two.

Sven was the only sane navigator Pidge had ever met. Or heard of. He seemed to spend a lot of his time keeping Keith and Lance from killing each other, though Pidge wasn't sure how serious that was. No more serious than his own sparring with Hunk, probably.

"Omega protocols fully engaged."

Omega protocols weren't really a thing. It was just the name Keith had made up for the secondary configuration the cockpits came equipped with. A week into their training the team was finally managing to get _into_ omega protocol formation without anyone crashing into each other, which was always a plus, but the actual utility of the practice was still debatable. Most of the ships' weapons were disabled, though the remaining few seemed to become supercharged, and a handful of new systems came up. Trading flexibility for firepower made perfect sense; Pidge didn't dwell on it.

More problematic was the fact that under omega protocols, each ship seemed to exert some kind of influence on the movement of the others. Nobody was doing particularly well with that aspect, though Hunk and Sven seemed to be getting the worst of it.

"ARGH!" A thud that was probably Hunk slamming a fist on his console as the two of them nearly collided, again, causing the rest of the ships to lurch slightly. "You know, I could accept that we're just slower at this, but why's it seem like we're mostly messing with each other when we mess up? Did they program the sims to hate us?"

"That's as logical as anything else, honestly." Sven sounded mildly irritated, which was his version of yelling and punching consoles. "Here... do you think we can open a private channel in these things?"

"Ought to be able—" Apparently they could, because Hunk's voice cut out. Pidge gave them even odds of coordinating or commiserating; in any case, things seemed to go a little more smoothly after that. He went back to focusing on his own ship.

Which was plenty to keep him occupied, really.

Under omega protocols, he had access to his main frontal cannon in two separate firing modes—the difference between the two was impossible to tell—and a couple of other frontal blasters which weren't active in his main configuration. Everything faced forward, which seemed inconvenient... especially because anyone else moving had a tendency to angle his ship so that 'forward' became entirely unpredictable.

_This is ridiculous_.

A fleet of Drule fighters appeared on the horizon and he took aim, only to be yanked off his lock at the last second when Lance started angling for a better shot. "Hey! Give a little warning next time, would you?"

"Sorry!" Lasers danced over the oncoming Drules. "Ugh, this is ridiculous."

_My thoughts exactly_.

"Let's try something." Keith had gone from sounding deadly serious to irritably serious, never a good sign. "Lance, take the lead. Everyone else, stay alert and try to compensate, but most importantly, look for a pattern. Do not take any independent action. We're going to try to figure this out."

That made a lot of sense, but the ships seemed to be resisting Lance's best efforts to move to the front of the formation. On the plus side, the rest of the team was managing to fly mostly level, reacting to his movements in a lull in the combat. But a pattern? Pidge certainly couldn't find one of _those_ just now.

It was bizarre. He couldn't think of any gravitational or warp field effect that might account for the movements, let alone how they could possibly be beneficial, but...

"Just heard something squeal. I don't think it was good."

"We've got another wave coming in."

"Stick to the plan. Stay tight. Lance, take evasive action, we'll follow your lead... hopefully."

"You got it!"

Lance shot forward, and Pidge's stomach dropped as his own craft decelerated, almost halted for an instant. He slammed his speed controls, overshot by a significant margin, and heard a shriek of stressed metal. An upper lever shuddered, and an auxiliary console shifted slightly; both were omega protocol systems. "My ship's trying to reconfigure."

"Fight it. Hold it together."

Easier said than done. Pidge shoved the lever back into place and was rewarded with a longer, louder shriek. "Can't take much more of this."

"You and me both." Lance's ship suddenly halted dead, and Keith's came inches away from slamming into it.

"Lance?"

"I've got more red lights in here than a strip—" Lance's comms fizzled out, and a diagnostic icon sprang up on Pidge's screen, indicating that his squadmate's ship had lost power.

_Uh oh_.

"Disengage omega protocols!" Keith ordered, not that he really had to say it; the formation had broken just fine on its own as Lance's ship went spiraling to the ground. Pidge tuned out the alarms, hit switches, and gritted his teeth against the overly well-simulated G-forces as he wrenched his own ship up and over the Drules. Just to prove he still had his wits more or less about him, he took a shot with his laser turret as they passed, but the angle was bad and the shot went nowhere in particular.

_Eh, at least I tried_.

As they detached from formation, Sven and Hunk clipped each other, sending both ships careening in opposite directions. Sven pulled up just in time to meet the ground with his landing gear rather than his cockpit; Hunk shot half a cliff up before he could smash into it and managed a reasonably soft landing in the rubble. Keith's ship shot past both of them, cannons blazing, providing cover fire for his fallen companions, for all the good that would do.

When Lance hit the dirt, the sim was over.

* * *

><p>Hawkins was standing at the main monitor bank, and raised an eyebrow as the team started making their way out of the pods. "You lasted seven minutes in formation. Much better than yesterday."<p>

"Sad but true." Hunk shook his head. "Sad but true."

"We're gonna get the hang of this someday, right?" Lance asked, stumbling out of his simulator and collapsing. He looked ill—the pod had flipped him very realistically as his ship had gone down.

"Someday," Lieutenant Brown agreed from his spot by the door. "You're improving, and it hasn't been that long. Nobody expects you to master these right away."

"Well that's good. I'd hate to be a disappointment. If nobody minds," the brown-haired pilot crawled to his feet, "I'm gonna go barf now."

"What if we do mind?" Keith asked.

"You're catching it!"

"Ugh. Get out of here, then."

As Lance darted out of the training room, Pidge exchanged shrugs with Hunk. Brown was right; they'd get this down someday.

They weren't going to have much choice.


	3. Extracurricular Activity

**Arusian Crusade: Deployment**  
>Chapter 2: Extracurricular Activity<p>

* * *

><p>It was relatively rare for Pidge to be out and about alone. But Hunk was in class, a workshop his young friend had been expressly forbidden from retaking yet again, and he had some free time. So off he went, to the same place he always seemed to end up when he was on his own.<p>

The Crescent Sun was one of the so-called 'alien bars'. Every establishment within a two hundred mile radius of Galaxy Garrison was more than accommodating to offworld visitors, of course. But the alien bars catered to them specifically. Such places also tended to draw more adventurous humans—some looking for more exposure to other cultures, some merely trying to duck the region's drinking age. That last part never worked. Anyone who looked enough like an Earthling still got carded.

Pidge would certainly have been questioned if he tried to order a drink, but he'd never much cared for alcohol anyway. He didn't hang around bars to sample their products. Mostly he just liked to sit back and think, taking in the atmosphere, watching the people. As in any shady bar—especially one with such a varied clientele—things got a little wild on occasion, but he didn't mind that either. It reminded him of the barely contained anarchy of Balto.

Also made for excellent practice, keeping his observational skills sharp.

For the last half hour or so, he'd had his eye on a group of seven rough-looking humans who'd caught his attention the moment they walked in. They lacked off-duty tags. It wasn't unheard of for non-Garrison personnel to show up here, but it was certainly unusual enough to warrant interest... and perhaps concern. The Crescent Sun was known for the quality, not the quantity, of its bar fights. These guys looked pretty quality indeed.

So far they'd tried harassing some enormous, four-armed, red-skinned alien who'd calmly brushed them off, and an irritable Hydran who'd lectured them about cowardice before removing himself from the premises. A bored-looking bouncer had taken notice of the group, but seemed unconcerned. Nothing short of blood was a concern around here.

Keeping one eye on the humans, Pidge focused most of his attention on the refractive scanner he'd been tweaking since he arrived. He'd bet Hunk dinner that he could double the device's range in a week, and there were more reasons than pride that he couldn't afford to lose that bet.

There probably weren't a whole lot of people who would consider the Crescent Sun a great backdrop for delicate technical work... but once again, he figured it was good practice. Sooner or later he would be trying to do this stuff under fire. Noise and drunks surely couldn't be allowed to faze him.

A creature with pale blue skin, hooves, and what looked like a squid on its face brushed by the rowdy humans. Too close. A provocation they could hardly ignore... until they all seemed to notice at once that their potential target was carrying an enormous battleax slung over its back. Pidge chuckled to himself. There was no way such a weapon could be drawn in here—which was undoubtedly why the alien had been allowed to carry it in the first place—but the thugs were too smashed to think about that. They backed off, and squidface walked out chuckling.

_Squidface? Shame on you. Whatever that thing was, he was a valued member of the Alliance._ He couldn't make himself take his own scolding seriously, and went back to his scanner. Waiting.

Something was bound to happen before too much longer, and he very much wanted to see what it would be.

* * *

><p>Keith had started calling extra training sessions as soon as he found free time in everyone's schedules. There had been some perfunctory groaning about it, but nobody honestly disagreed with the idea. There was something to be said for getting in the cockpits without a pair of officers watching every move they made, after all.<p>

Besides, the whole team was in silent agreement that omega protocols were no longer just an irritating maneuver that had to be mastered. They were an enemy to be conquered. The sooner, the better. And if that meant underhanded tactics, so be it... today's plan was to see if their resident engineering geniuses could pull the movement pattern or algorithm or whatever the hell it was out of the sim computers.

Hawkins probably wouldn't approve. But what he didn't know couldn't hurt them.

It was their third week as members of the Arus Expeditionary Force, and Keith was noticing a very slow, but unmistakable, lessening of the distance between the two halves of his team. Inevitable, really. It wasn't at all that they didn't _like_ each other. It was just that they occupied such very different spheres... Lance had started wrestling tales of crush car races from Hunk, which seemed like a good start.

Presently Lance was sitting at the briefing table with Sven, watching the navigator study star charts of the Denubian. He wasn't trying to learn about _stars_, of course. He was, as he called it, expanding his vocabulary. Sven could swear in three languages and was making prolific use of the talent.

Hunk walked in alone, which was so unusual Keith spoke before he even fully registered the fact. "Hey, Hunk. Where's Pidge?"

The big engineer stopped, looked around the room, and frowned. "Huh. Was expecting him to be here already... must've lost track of time." Shrug. "Want me to go hunt him down?"

"Honestly, if you can tell us where to find him, I'd rather get you started looking at the pods."

A brief hesitation, as if he actually didn't care for that arrangement, but after a few seconds he shrugged again. "Yeah, sure. He likes to hang out down in the Blaze District."

Lance's head shot up. "Wait, _what_? The Wild West?" The Blaze District was one of the commercial zones on the fringes of Galaxy Garrison. It was known for many things. Law, order, and respectability were not among them—it had earned its nickname well. "Come on. That's not even a very good joke."

"I'm serious! That kid loves chaos." A third shrug; Hunk was actually quite eloquent with shrugs. "Goes down there a couple times a week when our classes don't line up, just for kicks. He likes the Crescent Sun best, but really he could turn up anywhere." Pause. "Uh, except the strip clubs. Don't get the wrong idea..."

"I'll go after him," Lance volunteered immediately, and Keith shot him a withering look.

"Forget it, Lance. You'll get in a bar fight or something. Sven, stop cursing at your maps and come make yourself useful, would you?"

Sven glowered at him for a moment, but resumed his usual cool demeanor as soon as he'd made his point. "On it." He swept out of the room, leaving his star charts behind; Lance took the opportunity to scribble HERE BE DRAGONS on one of them.

"Lance, you do know he can recognize your handwriting."

"If he has to study the _writing_ to figure out that was me, I'll be sorely disappointed."

"...Okay, granted." Keith sighed and turned to Hunk. "Let's get this show started, shall we?"

* * *

><p>About ten minutes after squidface departed, something finally happened. Certainly not what Pidge had been expecting to happen.<p>

The humans were obviously frustrated by their inability to pick a fight so far. It took more than drunken leering to fluster most of the patrons here, after all, and they didn't seem to have much more than that in their bag of tricks. So they fell back on the last refuge of the wasted and desperate: harassing their waitress.

She was human herself, with long black hair, and though her back was to Pidge her body language was unmistakably nervous. Staff at the alien bars put up with all kinds of idiot patrons, but maybe she was new, or maybe they were going overboard. One way or another, if they went too far things were sure to get interesting, as the bouncers would frown on hindering an employee...

The waitress turned and Pidge caught a glimpse of her face, soft features and pale blue, almost lavender eyes. His breath caught in his throat.

_...She looks like..._

Starting fights wasn't really his thing, though he was always more than willing to finish them. But there were certain limits. Lines that were not to be crossed. Before he knew it he was up and moving, scanner tucked away in a pocket, sizing up the group for combat rather than curiosity.

Six of the goons were dead drunk. He noted their positioning, probable reach, and then wrote them all off as mildly inconvenient scenery. It wouldn't take much to put them on the floor where they belonged. The ringleader was something different, though. For one thing, there was a knife sheathed at his side. More importantly... he was _acting_ just as smashed as the rest of them, but his eyes were too sharp and his movements a little too coordinated.

_Faking it? Interesting_. No doubt now that they'd come in looking for a fight. And they were going to get one after all. He pushed past a few empty chairs and came up next to the waitress, not even looking at her. She wasn't important. Not on her own merits. Only the memories she'd sparked.

Slowly but surely, the thugs noticed they had company. "Does your mommy know you're here, kid?"

_Ooh. Real creative. _He'd gotten that a few times before, and did not understand the human fixation on insulting peoples' mothers. Didn't matter to him; he didn't have one. "I'd suggest you back off the lady, right about now."

Every one of their expressions flickered through the same mix of confusion, disbelief, and contempt before settling on amused anticipation. "And what's she to you, you little brat?"

Pidge gave a long-suffering sigh. "Oh, give it up. You're obviously here to cause trouble, and I hate seeing people leave disappointed, so why don't we skip the superfluous questions and get to the part where I beat all your faces in?"

Most of them took a moment to figure out _superfluous, _which gave him time to take the closest one out at the knees. The English language really was a wonderful weapon.

"Bad move, brat," one of the others grunted, lunging and flailing widely. Pidge was already out of his way, but rewarded the move with a leaping scissor kick which not only took out the diving drunk, but knocked his closest friend aside as well. Coming out of the kick Pidge twisted and slammed a fist into a snarling face that was suddenly looming over him, then ducked below the table and heard an attempted counterstrike shatter glass.

Two bouncers were approaching now, and he shot them a quick salute. "Don't worry guys, we were just leaving!" He didn't like these close quarters anyway. Better to get outside, where his mobility advantage would be magnified, and there was far less worry about collateral damage.

"What?" the lead thug growled. "We're not goin' anywhere—"

"You are if you want your dignity back," Pidge chirped, and sprinted for the door.

Two of the goons he'd already hit made it up and followed as the gang chased him out of the Crescent Sun into the streets. This _was_ the Blaze District, and nobody stopped to look at a fight spilling its way out of a bar. They just moved to the other side of the street and started walking other directions with a little more purpose. That suited Pidge just fine. Best to keep the area clear. He turned just in time to see the drunk he'd punched diving at him.

_Too wasted to learn_. He sidestepped the attack and turned his focus on the leader, but before he could even orient himself, pain lanced through him just below his right hip. He bit back a shriek that was as much surprise and anger as pain, and turned slightly to see the drunk he'd just dodged clutching a knife that was still embedded in his thigh.

_Damn!_

What happened after that, he couldn't have actually described, though he remembered slamming the one who'd stabbed him right in the windpipe and feeling a slight crunch. The thug wouldn't _die_. But he was going to be uncomfortable for a long time. Two others went down, with only one coming back up, but Pidge honestly had no idea what he'd done to them as his vision went red with rage... mostly directed at himself.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid_.

It was his own fault he'd been stabbed. He'd gotten arrogant and clumsy, assuming _drunk_ and _stupid_ were mutually exclusive with _dangerous_, so now he was bleeding with pain shooting through him at every step. Precisely the state he deserved to be in after such an amateur mistake.

Cursing in Tenra'ke he bolted down the sidewalk, jumped, kicked off a wall and came down on one of his remaining pursuers, landing a kick to the thug's face and registering blood spurting from his nose. A quick strike, making his point, and he was off again. Spread out the enemies. See how many were sober enough to keep running.

"You guys look after the others!" the leader snarled to his two friends that were still standing. "I can handle Gimpy myself."

_Gimpy?_ Injured he may be, but Pidge was far from out of the fight, and he was getting angrier by the second... he changed course, leading the thug to a dead-end alley. _Wounded animals are dangerous, tough guy. You'll lose a lot more blood than I will today._

* * *

><p>One did not stop to ask directions in the Blaze District. Either you knew where you were going, or you knew what you were looking for, and if neither of those applied you were merely a victim in waiting and it was best not to admit it. Of course, Sven <em>did<em> know what he was looking for. But the flashy signs that usually attracted such purpose-driven visitors probably weren't going to lead him to Pidge.

Two blocks in he encountered his first hooker, who barely even had a chance to start her pitch when he fixed her with his best _stay the hell away_ look—which was very good indeed. She backed off so fast she stumbled into a lightpost and went down with a yelp. Usually Sven would have felt mildly guilty about that, maybe even stopped to make certain she was alright, but this didn't seem like the time or place for chivalry.

He moved on, cloaking himself in ice, all but daring anyone else to distract him. No one did.

The Crescent Sun was on the northern edge of the district, and there was a small crowd gathered around the front, where a man had collapsed in a heap and was gasping for breath. Waiting for an ambulance, no doubt. That was a good sign. He moved past the group of spectators, heading for the door, but stopped as he overheard two Salans muttering about the incident.

"...kid was knocking 'em down left and right, it was pretty awesome."

"A kid?"

"Yeah, might've been a human, couldn't tell for sure. Those drunks could barely touch him."

"Wearing green? With glasses? I think I saw him running down Patch Street, bleeding. Was wondering what someone like that was doing down here..."

For an instant, Sven's body refused to obey him as he tried to comprehend what he'd just heard, then he gave up on it. Redoubling his efforts to look utterly unapproachable, he located a street sign for Patch Street and started moving. He had no idea what he was getting into, but he had a job to do.

* * *

><p>"Way to go, kid!" the thug sneered as he studied their surroundings. "Now you're stuck in a corner."<p>

Pidge's eyes narrowed. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." His pursuer drew his own knife, sneering. "So let's finish this."

"By all means, let's." Fighting the pain he jumped up on a dumpster, launching into a flip and coming down behind his opponent. The shock of the landing took his wounded leg out from under him, but he managed to salvage a combat-ready crouch out of it. He didn't stand, though he could've. _Make it look worse than it is._ "Now who's trapped in a corner?"

The thug did not seem impressed as he took a few steps forward. "I'd like to see you stop me from leaving if I want to, Gimpy. But don't worry, I wouldn't run off before we're done here. Breaking some stuff on you is gonna be _fun_."

"No doubt." _I am getting really sick of this Gimpy crap_. He'd been called a thousand worse things in his life, but somehow this one really _was_ grating. His fury was building, and that was dangerous to both of them—he needed to focus. He would be slowed by the wound. Not enough to make a difference, if only he could keep his wits about him...

"Pidge, stand down."

Pidge's eyes widened as the command ripped through him, smothering his burning rage in its ice. _What in...?_ When he looked up someone new was standing over him, staring at the thug with eyes as deep and dark as space itself. _Sven?_ Pidge had no idea where he'd come from. "But—"

"No. Stay there." It wasn't a suggestion, it was an order. Then he was moving forward, sidearm drawn, every inch of his body screaming of merciless, deadly intent.

Pidge felt the slightest hint of terror creeping over him, and he wasn't even the target. _Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he's _not_ the only sane navigator I've ever met._

Navigators were an odd breed. And more than that, a frightening one. At its core the art of navigation was a skill that linked the piloting and engineering disciplines. Astrophysics and mathematics came together in ways that must not err—despite the unfathomable scale involved, missing a fraction of an inch could be damaging. A few inches could be deadly. But all its technical components meant nothing without an understanding of its practical implications on those who practiced it.

It all came together so neatly. Whole planets were reduced to irrelevant scenery, while stars and black holes were the most basic of tools. The infinite void, and its deadly forces of speed and gravity, were merely factors to be weighed and measured; time itself was an element to be harnessed at will. Life and death became nothing but an equation. A probability. Just another calculation in the fathomless depths between galaxies.

It took a certain madness to enter that world. Further madness to become adept at it. But those who reveled in the cosmic forces they toyed with...

...and in the end, that was _all of them_...

...were terrifying creatures.

He'd never seen it in Sven before. But in that moment the truth was shining brighter than any star.

It was frightening the thug, too, and he was pulling a wary retreat. The fact that he could walk backwards without stumbling over his own feet reinforced Pidge's original assumption; the drunk act had been just that, an act.

"Well, well." He sounded a lot less scared than he looked. It might've been pride... or just because he was about to back into a wall. "If only I'd known the little punk was gonna have a big punk backing him up, I'd have saved—"

"—Oh, shut up." Sven gestured with his weapon. "I'm not here to play games. You have ten seconds to _get out of my sight_."

For exactly ten seconds, they stared at each other, then the goon chuckled. "You're not gonna shoot me over a—" The dull crack of a bone breaking cut him off and he shrieked, crumpling to the ground as the dark soldier released his arm.

"Didn't say I was going to shoot you," Sven muttered. "Now get up before I hit you again."

Panting a little—his arm was bent in a way that turned Pidge's stomach just to look at it—the thug stood, only to have Sven strike a second time, cleanly snapping his other arm. "What the hell is your problem? I got up!"

"And I appreciate that. Made it much easier." Sven took a step back. "Now get out of here before I start breaking your legs."

For about another ten seconds they stared each other down, then the thug cursed under his breath and darted out of the alley. "This ain't over!"

"Sure it isn't." Sven watched him go, then turned his attention to Pidge. "What are you doing here?"

"I was about to ask you the same question," Pidge retorted, then realized that actually might not be a wise thing to say to someone who was, technically, his superior officer. "I mean, uh... I wouldn't expect _you_ to turn up in the Blaze District..."

"Keith sent me after you."

_Huh? Why would Keith... oh._ Reality abruptly crashed down on his head. _Ah, hells_. Glancing at his watch to confirm what he'd just realized, he felt his face going scarlet. "I, uh... kind of wasn't watching the clock... you know... busy... er... starting bar fights..." He sounded even more flustered than he felt. Which was pretty impressive.

Sven frowned, then seemed to push it aside. For the moment. "Can you walk?"

Scowling, Pidge stood and crossed his arms. "You kidding? I'm fine. It's barely a scr..." Looking down for the first time in several minutes, he trailed off. Most of his right leg was stained deep crimson. "Oh wow. That does look kinda bad, doesn't it? But I can walk."

"You're sure?"

"I've been running and flipping halfway through the Blaze District since the guy stabbed me, Sven, I'm sure."

"Fair enough." The navigator motioned for him to follow, and gave him a stern look. "You started a bar fight."

Pidge looked up and grimaced as he started to limp along the street. "Is there a question in there?"

"Yes."

"They were asking for it."

To his surprise, Sven burst into laughter. "Hard to doubt that."

Silence fell again quickly. Pidge waited for it to get awkward, which didn't take as long as he would have liked. "You know, I could've handled him."

Frown. No response. He couldn't tell if it was a doubtful frown, or a _that's totally irrelevant_ frown, though with Sven it was usually safe to guess the latter. But he needed to know for sure... needed to make it very clear he hadn't needed help.

"I'm serious."

"I believe you."

"Then why'd you jump in?"

Hesitation. "Because he _stabbed you_," he finally answered as if that ought to be obvious.

Pidge decided not to admit that it was a drunk clown who'd done the actual stabbing. "Yeah, but you, uh... you barely know me."

"So?"

"So you just broke a guy's arms for stabbing someone you barely know?"

"Of course." Sven looked confused now. "You're my squadmate."

_Oh_. "Right... yeah. Sorry. Silly question." It was odd, though. Having other people ready to jump into things on his behalf the way Hunk was would take some getting used to. And he couldn't help feeling like there was _something_ more to it, but he'd probably pressed far enough for now. Besides, the pain in his leg was getting worse. "I... might actually have to bow out of today's session. This probably at least merits a bandage."

"_Probably?_ ...Yes. It probably does." Sven shrugged, hit a button on his wristcomp. "Keith, call it."

Keith's voice crackled over the comm, just loud enough for Pidge to hear. "What do you mean call it?"

"I mean call it off."

"You've got to be joking."

"No. I'll report when I get there."

"I'm sitting next to a half-dismantled sim pod and you're telling us to call it off?"

Sven was still arguing over the comm as the two pilots left the Blaze District together, leaving a trail of blood and bodies behind them.

It hadn't been such a bad day.

* * *

><p>His reception at the Dungeon was no great surprise; Hunk, barely back from the training room, took one look at him and went into mother bear mode.<p>

_"Pidge!"_

"It looks worse than it is, honest. So where'd we hide the first aid kit this week?"

"Dude, don't even think about it. _You_ are gonna sit down, and _I_ am gonna get the bandages and fix you up."

"I guess that works too."

"Don't guess. SIT."

Of course Pidge was perfectly capable of bandaging his own leg. They both knew that. But he acquiesced to Hunk's attention because it made the big man feel so much better. He was at his best when his protective instincts kicked in, whether it was over a stray puppy or a lost child or a scrappy engineer. It wasn't patronizing or annoying. It was Hunk being who he was—needing to be needed.

Besides, it _was_ nice to be cared about.

"You started a bar fight!" He'd heard that statement already today, but where Sven had been questioning, Hunk's voice was filled with pure admiration.

Unwarranted admiration, really. "I did."

"Well? And? Was it awesome?" His roommate was shuffling around their quarters, hunting down the medical supplies. "You're gonna have a pretty epic scar to show for it. Shame it's not anywhere visible." Kneeling beside Pidge and starting to clean the wound, he frowned when his friend stayed quiet. "Dude, stop holding out! Let's hear the war stories!"

Pidge giggled. _You always know how to cheer me up_. "Well, I tripped one of them, then I kicked two of them, then I punched another one. Then one knifed me and I got a little upset with him." Shrug. "I'm not sure what happened after that, but they came out on the worse end of it."

No response for a few minutes, as his friend finished dressing the wound. Then Hunk put the bandages down and cocked his head. "You know, you are not taking anywhere _near_ enough pride in this accomplishment. What's the matter, little buddy?"

_Doesn't take you long, does it? Not long enough, sometimes_. But he'd known they would get there eventually, and shook his head. "They were bothering some girl who looked a lot like Jyari. I sorta snapped without thinking about it... and it's kind of creeping me out."

"Ohhh. Gotcha."

Jyari was a Tenra—one of the beautiful, psychic creatures which inhabited Balto, and usually did their best to prove that beauty and mental power did not have to equal grace or sophistication. But Jyari herself was different. She'd pulled Pidge off the streets and given him a life, and for that he would always honor her.

And anyone who looked like her, apparently.

Nothing like that had ever happened before, and intellectually he could never have predicted it. Losing control like that _did_ give him a creepy feeling, but what else could he do? Everyone had their pressure points. He'd just never _found_ one of his like that before.

"At risk of getting smacked," Hunk commented at length, "I think that's adorable."

Pidge, who after all hated to see people disappointed, promptly smacked him.

* * *

><p>After listening to Sven's briefing, Keith felt a terrible headache coming on. So he did what he usually did when his friends started driving him crazy. He gave a lecture.<p>

"So you jumped into the middle of a bar fight and started breaking bones. Do you realize how badly I need you to _not_ get court-martialed? I appreciate that you apparently feel Lance isn't keeping me busy enough these days, but I assure you, he really is..."

Lance, seated off to his left, glared at him. "Hey! You're telling off Sven, leave me out of this!"

Sven laughed softly and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. "Don't worry about me, worry about Pidge... though he'd probably be upset if you worried about him, actually. So maybe don't. Forget I said it."

Well. That was something. Sven wasting words by thinking out loud was the equivalent of another man breaking into a screaming, sobbing fit. "Um. You okay?"

"Yes." Hesitation. "I think I offended Pidge by jumping in."

Keith resisted the urge to slap a palm to his forehead. "One of our engineers just left a trail of bodies strewn across the shadiest neighborhood in range of the Garrison, and you're worried about your _manners_?" That got him a shrug. "Look, I know you're here under duress, but you could at least pretend to take this mission seriously."

His friend's expression darkened. "I am taking this _very_ seriously, Keith. Someone stabbed my squadmate. He's lucky all I did was break his arms."

"If I gave you a lecture on disproportionate retribution, would you ignore it or take it as a compliment?"

"Yes."

No great surprise there, really. "Right. We'll skip that, then."

It was simple, really. Fear was Sven's primary weapon in close combat. The way he went so deadly cold was part of it, but the other factor was overkill. Inflicting horrific damage as quickly as possible. Convincing the victim and any of the victim's allies they wanted no part of him. Ending the combat swiftly... and ideally without killing anyone. It was just one of Sven's many paradoxes that he was the quickest of all of them to cause a grievous wound, but the last to land a mortal blow.

The thug who'd stabbed Pidge _had_ been lucky to get out with only his arms broken, and Keith knew it. There wasn't much else to say.

Lance had been uncharacteristically quiet—probably trying to avoid being singled out as a bad example again. Now he finally spoke up, but it wasn't about discipline. "You know, I feel like we should've known that Pidge considers bar fighting a hobby before now."

"Probably true," Keith agreed.

"We've gotta get to know those guys better. Not in the future. _Now_. Crash course in team-building. Think Hawkins would give us some leave for it?"

"Possibly... wait, leave? For team-building?" The commander cocked his head. "I suppose you have something specific in mind, then."

"Matter of fact, I may just."

* * *

><p>"Wish you could've seen Keith's expression when Sven reported in," Hunk was chuckling. "Man... I was halfway into taking that sim pod apart, he was ready to spit bullets." Pause. "You didn't tell me how Sven actually found you when you were busy dropping drunks all over the Wild West, by the way. That place is a maze."<p>

"Oh, right. I don't actually know how he tracked me down, but he showed up and scared the living daylights out of the one that was left standing." Pidge flopped out on his bed and gave Hunk a searching look. "Scared the living_ and dead _daylights out of me, too, would you believe?"

"You mean he didn't scare you before?"

Pidge hesitated. "Um..." _No. No, not in the least._ "Should he have? What, just because he's a navigator?"

"No, no." Hunk sat on his own bed. "I mean, that's good too. But not... I dunno. Those three _all_ scare me."

Well. That _was_ interesting. Hidden behind all his goofs and gadgets, Hunk possessed a keen sense of observation. Social observation. He could grasp the most subtle nuances of a personality in minutes—and typically kept it to himself, feeling all the more awkward for his insights. "Tell me about it?"

Shrug. "Keith always seems like he's about two seconds from snapping and going down a really bad road. One speed bump and he could be a totally different person overnight. Don't know what the new person would be like. Depends what he hits. But I'm not sure any of the options are good." Frown. "Lance would be just as happy to set the whole Drule Supremacy on fire, and he'd laugh while they were burning. He's probably got his reasons. Doesn't make it any less creepy."

_Amazing_. Pidge would never have put that together himself, but as Hunk spoke everything was falling into place. It was all so clear. "And Sven?"

"Everyone's gotta fight for something. But I don't know what Sven's fighting for. I'm pretty sure _he_ doesn't know what he's fighting for." Another shrug. "People like that, who don't know what they're about..." He trailed off helplessly. "They bug me."

Pidge nodded his understanding. _So then_...

_So you just broke a guy's arms for stabbing someone you barely know?_

_Of course. You're my squadmate._

"If it makes you feel any better about him," he offered, "I think he's trying to figure it out."

Hunk looked thoughtful for a minute, then a wicked grin appeared on his face. "You know, I've got an idea that might help with that..."

"I don't trust that look."

"And you probably shouldn't, but don't worry too much yet. Go get some rest, little buddy."


	4. Unit Cohesion

**Arusian Crusade: Deployment**  
>Chapter 3: Unit Cohesion<p>

_Thanks for the reviews! Hopefully this won't disappoint.  
><em>_No egos were harmed in the writing of this chapter... much._

* * *

><p>It had been so easy to get Keith to agree. <em>Too<em> easy. That worried Hunk; he was certain he must have missed something and would end up regretting this project. But for the moment he decided to count his blessings and watch the show.

"Let me get this straight." Colonel Hawkins leaned back in his seat and studied the group, eyes narrowed with concentration, expression otherwise unreadable. "You're less than a month into your training schedule, and you'd like to take a week of leave in order to perform an extended team-building exercise. Otherwise known as a road trip."

"Yessir. That's... pretty much it." Keith was actually _squirming_.

Hawkins' gaze fell on Lance, then on Hunk. "So which of you is responsible for this?"

"My fault," Hunk admitted with a shrug.

"All me," Lance declared at the same moment.

..._Oh, so _that's_ why it was so easy._ They exchanged startled looks, and Hunk couldn't help it. He laughed.

"Great minds think alike," Lance chuckled.

"Yep, and so do ours!"

Hawkins looked between the two of them again, then returned his attention to Keith, who shook his head as if to say _see what I was up against? _Then, amazingly enough, the colonel actually smiled.

"It took you long enough. I've been waiting for a team-building proposal since you were given this assignment." He leaned over the desk. "This is a high-stakes mission with many uncertainties and few solid facts. We cannot afford stress fractures in your team. You are being granted extraordinary leeway for this operation, and I can hardly deny this request. You're released for exactly one week, as of noon tomorrow."

Keith blinked. Blindsided, clearly. Hunk was pretty sure their commander had been prepared to argue passionately for the request, no matter how he might feel about it personally. Accepting it that easily had thrown the whole thing off. Finally, "I, uh. Thank you, sir!" He shot off a salute and motioned for everyone to leave.

Nobody even dared to speak again until they were out of Hawkins' office, out of the building, and out on the street. It might shatter the moment.

"He seriously just okayed that without a second thought, didn't he?" Pidge finally asked.

"He seriously did," Lance agreed. "That guy's actually kind of awesome for an officer."

"King Alfor's got to be some kind of... something." Keith shook his head. "I've never heard of the Alliance being so accommodating to a bunch of cadets, special mission or not."

"They owe us for this omega protocol mess." Pidge sounded bitter; Hunk empathized. They'd gotten another shot at pulling the sim coding, but it turned out everything about omega protocols had been scripted on Arus. Neither of them could make heads or tails of the programming language and, after stalling for a good half hour, had been forced to admit defeat.

Hunk found it irritating, to be sure, but Pidge had taken it as a grave personal failing. Emphasis on 'personal'. And he was pretty mad.

"Dude, you guys, cut it out. I do not want to hear the words 'omega protocols' for the next week." Lance gave them all a reproachful glare. "We are _on leave_. We're gonna go out and have fun and make total fools of ourselves for the duration, and then you can go back to talking business. Not until!"

"Okay, fair enough."

"Wait a minute." Keith looked over the group. "We do at least need to set some ground rules."

Lance and Hunk turned looks of pure disbelief on Keith. Pidge coughed, trying unsuccessfully to hide a laugh, and even Sven arched an eyebrow.

Naturally, it was Lance who finally voiced the objection. "You cannot have _ground rules_ on a _road trip_, Keith. They are _mutually exclusive_."

The commander frowned. "Okay, let me rephrase that. We need to set one ground rule. Namely, Lance, you may not attempt to drag race any law enforcement officers we may or may not happen to stumble across."

"Hey, wait a minute! You can't just give me a rule that nobody else has to follow!"

"Fine, then _nobody's_ allowed to."

Lance glowered for a moment, then his expression shifted to a wicked smirk. "Actually, you know what? I think we could have some fun with this rules thing. Let's each make one. Keith's rule is no racing cop cars. My rule," his gaze fell on Sven, "is no maps or GPS."

The navigator crossed his arms and smirked right back. "Bring it on."

Pidge and Hunk looked at each other for a moment, then nodded, and Pidge sat back on the curb. "My rule is no hotels. Campgrounds all the way."

"I've got a super tricked-out RV we can use," Hunk added. He'd go for _any_ excuse to drag that project back out. "And my rule is no restaurants after 4 PM. Campfire cookin' every night! I'm an expert, I promise." He looked at Sven, who didn't look to be in any hurry to jump into this discussion. "You've still gotta come up with one, you know."

"I was just waiting to see what you were going to do." Sven was still smirking. "Mine is, all rules are optional."

Four jaws dropped. Lance was the first to recover, groaning and punching his friend on the shoulder. "You bastard. You magnificent _bastard_."

"Hey, wait." Pidge's eyes went slightly unfocused, as they always did when he was concentrating, and he turned a thoughtful expression on the ground. "Are you saying just our rules are optional? Or are you saying your rule's also optional so we have the option of making our rules not be optional?"

Everyone stared at him, then at Sven, who looked back at them and shrugged. "What're you all looking at me for? He wins."

* * *

><p>The RV Hunk had volunteered for the trip was larger than Keith's dorm room and nicer than his aunt's officer quarters. It had a GPS, of course; Lance would be watching that like a hawk to be sure it went unused. It also had two generators, a fully equipped kitchen, the most advanced internet and satellite hookups available, and...<p>

"...Is that a chandelier?"

Hunk looked at the crystalline light fixture in the back of the vehicle and shrugged sheepishly. "I thought it was a nice touch. Needed something unique."

"Check out the leather," Lance grinned, stretching out in the driver's seat. "You build this for the Luxray circuit?"

"Yeah, but it didn't really take." Hunk must've noticed the odd looks he was getting from everyone but Lance, because he quickly explained, "Luxray's the luxury racer circuit. Crush cars are about making _anything_ into a wicked road ripper, y'know. But this baby was always a little top heavy for the track. Damn shame, it was fun while it worked..." He sighed happily, lost in memories for a moment, then shook it off and began stowing suitcases.

Pidge took a flying leap into the over-cab section, then flopped back over the edge and stared upside-down at the rest of the team. "So where are we actually going? I don't know a thing about Earth geography."

"I wasn't really worrying about a _where_," Lance admitted. "Kind of figured I'd just take turns that look interesting, and let Mister Bring-It-On over here figure out where we're at after the fact." He motioned to Sven, who was studiously ignoring him. "But if anyone has suggestions we'll see what we can do."

Keith looked to Sven also. "What do you think, good excuse to head for Japan?"

"If only." Their navigator gave him an odd look. "That would take more than a week... and we'd get a little bit wet."

"What, you mean this thing can't swim or fly?"

"Nah, afraid not..." Hunk's eyes widened and he looked at Pidge, whose expression had become just as eager. "But those are both _great_ ideas and we'll get on them as soon as this trip's over, right little buddy?"

"Already making plans!"

Keith sank back into one of the seats with an exaggerated moan and covered his face with his hands. "My God, what have I done?"

"You aren't fooling anyone, Keith." Lance's tone was almost scolding. "You are laughing behind that double facepalm."

"Untrue."

"You are. You're laughing on the _inside_."

_Well, yeah_. There was no point trying to deny the truth of that, so he gave in and started laughing on the outside also. He'd resigned himself to being the only sane man on this trip, but that didn't mean he couldn't have _any_ fun.

To that end... "I've always wanted to see the aurora borealis," he suggested after regaining his composure. "Think we can make that happen?" He was looking at Sven again—after all, not only was he the resident astronomer, he'd grown up in Norway and had some first-hand experience with the subject.

His friend frowned, considering it. "Can't make any promises, but there _has_ been a lot of sunspot activity lately. All we can do is head north and hope."

"Is that all? No problem." Lance made a great production of yawning. "Keep driving north until we hit water. _Boring_. Entirely possible, but boring."

Pidge crossed his arms, still upside-down. "I have no idea what an aurora borealis is, which seems like a good enough reason to go for it. Is it really going to be too boring for you, Lance? Because I can hack the steering system up a bit if you like."

Their pilot—or was it just a driver for the moment?—reddened slightly. "That's okay. I think maybe I can deal with boring after all."

"You sure? Because it's no problem, really. I can have you wishing for omega protocols in five minutes..."

"Didn't I already say those words were off limits?"

Keith chuckled, watching the two argue, then was distracted by Hunk flopping into a seat between him and Sven. "You know, if you two really want to go to Japan, you should've said so a little earlier. I could arrange that no problem. My grandparents live in Tokyo, and they're always complaining that I don't come visit enough."

"No kidding? I had no idea you were Japanese."

"On my mom's side." Hunk snorted. "Where d'you think I got a first name like Tsuyoshi?"

"...Did not know that either. I think your nickname suits you better."

"Yeah, I hear that." The big engineer threw his hands behind his head. "Ah well. It is what it is, and all that jazz. What about you, Keith? With a name like Kogane..."

True enough, as far as it went, but Keith's family was actually several generations removed from the islands. "Yeah, sure. I know karate, aikido, kenjutsu, and quite a few other Japanese words." He gestured to Sven. "Actual _useful_ knowledge is more his deal than mine, really."

"Really." Hunk arched an eyebrow. "I've been avoiding asking this, but since it's come up now, I didn't know they had Japanese Vikings."

Sven shrugged. "What, you've never heard of adoption?"

"Ah! That _does_ explain—"

"BUCKLE UP BACK THERE!" Lance bellowed, cutting off all conversation. "We're rolling before this maniac starts cutting wires!" Pidge said nothing, but looked very pleased with himself.

Keith sighed and strapped himself in. "Right then. All units, commence Operation Herding Cats. Tundra or bust!"

* * *

><p>As darkness fell on their first day of travel, they found themselves somewhere with a lot of trees and mountains. And traffic. Lance pulled off at an empty lot and the group disembarked. "Alright navigator, pop quiz number one. Where are we, exactly?"<p>

Sven looked up, studied the sky for a few moments. "We're in Gatlinburg, Tennessee."

His friend's jaw dropped. "You can seriously tell that just from the stars?"

_You just keep on thinking that_. But he wasn't going to be able to keep up the charade for long, so he shook his head. "There was a sign, Lance."

Lance hit him. Again. That was turning into a theme on this trip.

Pidge had scrambled to the top of the RV and was looking up at the mountains to their east. "Ought to be a few decent campgrounds here, anyway. Look at this place." His eyes were shining as he dropped back to the ground. "I could stay here all week."

"Sure," Hunk agreed. "We'll pick you up on the way back to the Garrison."

"Hey!"

"What? I'm just tryin' to help!"

The team returned to the vehicle, and within the hour had a camping permit and a spot in the middle of a national park Sven had never heard of in his life. Terrestrial geography actually wasn't one of his stronger points. Lance and Keith had a cheerful campfire burning within minutes, and the group sat around the flames watching Hunk cook hamburgers over the coals.

Turned out the big guy really _was_ good at this. Sven didn't even like hamburgers and it was one of the best meals he'd ever had. And he wasn't alone.

"That was _amazing_, Hunk." Lance was finishing off his second burger as he spoke. "Where'd you pick this up? I'm pretty sure I've never seen Cooking Out 101 on the electives list."

"Secret family campfire recipe!" Hunk answered proudly. "I did tons of camping when I was a kid. Mom and my brothers were all the outdoors-y types, and they felt like it was some grand calling to drag me'n my dad out of the garage at least once a month." He tossed a few new pieces of kindling on the fire. "After I learned to take apart the grill and put it back together, I figured I may as well learn to use it. Went from there."

Pidge was nibbling on potato chips and looking around the edges of the fire circle. "Will you guys be terribly offended if I sleep outside? I mean, the camper's nice and all, but it's been ages since I had a night under the stars."

"You camped out a lot too?" Lance asked.

The small engineer hesitated. "Umm. Not exactly." He looked at Hunk, who just shrugged, then seemed to relax. "My, uh... my kind aren't looked on too highly back on Balto. I grew up on the streets." He looked to the sky. "Every night I'd find a nice open roof, and lie down and count the stars until I could sleep. It never even occurred to me back then that there were people on other planets looking at _our_ star the same way."

_Aha_. So Pidge was a street kid. Suddenly he made a lot more sense, actually.

Lance pitched his paper plate into the flames and stretched out on the ground. "You too, huh? I used to sneak out of my house once my parents were asleep, and run to this pond we had out back... I loved trying to count the stars in the water, then looking up to see how few I was really seeing."

Sven shot his friend a sharp look, and noticed Keith looking startled as well. Just for a moment. But Lance did not continue that train of thought, did not mention the night he'd once told them about... the night the stars had moved. The night the stars had _fallen_.

Instead, he added, "Heck, that's how Sven and I met back at the academy. Stargazing out at the cape every night, and sooner or later we got sick of seeing each other and not even knowing each others' names."

Well, that was one way to describe their first meeting. Sven waved it off. "You make it sound so poetic. _You_ might have been out there for fun, but _I_ was doing homework!" He decided not to elaborate either; no sense mentioning how many punches had been thrown over the matter.

Lance rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. You suffer for your art. The question is, are you gonna stay out here with us tonight or hide in the van?"

"It's not a _van_," Hunk protested. "That is a _recreational vehicle_. And if this is where we're going with this discussion, I'll just lock it up tonight so everyone _has_ to sleep outside."

Somehow, the whole team ended up looking at Keith. Maybe it was because he was their commander, and even off duty they looked to him for leadership. Maybe it was just because he'd stayed out of the discussion so far. He was staring into the sky. Finally, realizing the others were all waiting for him to say something, he leaned back on the rock he was sitting on and shrugged. "I don't have any stories about the stars, guys. May as well come up with one now."

* * *

><p>Hearing his friends tell it, sleeping under the stars was something romantic and lovely, but so far all Keith was getting out of it was discomfort. He shifted uneasily in his sleeping bag and sighed. It was ridiculous. The ground was rough, the forest was noisy, the moon was shining straight in his eyes, and the air smelled like campfire smoke.<p>

_Never again_.

The crickets or tree frogs or whatever the hell was chirping merrily away in the trees did have one advantage. They were loud enough to drown out Hunk's snoring—_thank God for small favors_. But it wasn't enough. Sighing again, Keith stood and stretched, trying to ease out the soreness from lying on dirt and twigs for two hours. He clearly wasn't going to get any sleep until he outright keeled over from exhaustion.

Nobody else seemed to be having trouble... he studied the team in the moonlight. Hunk was sprawled wildly across half the fire circle, snoring away. Lance was cuddling with his pillow, looking almost endearing, while Sven was curled up deeper in the woods, where the ground was padded by pine needles. Pidge... Keith frowned. He didn't see Pidge anywhere, only his empty sleeping bag. Looking around wildly, something green and too bright caught his eye from... above?

The kid was sleeping in a tree.

Slapping a palm over his face, Keith decided to go for a walk.

Camping was not shaping up to be a great success, but he was glad to be trying it out. Keith would try pretty much anything once. But he always seemed to fall back on the same things. Discipline, honor, structure. As much as Lance ribbed him about not having any hobbies, he practiced the martial arts more for pleasure than for business... perhaps he was just meant to be a soldier, by nature and by blood. None of this really bothered him, but he did recognize his interests might be a bit narrow. So he tried new things.

In any case, the fact that sleeping on the dirt was obnoxious didn't prevent him from appreciating the outdoor scenery otherwise.

The park was beautiful in the moonlight. Fog was just starting to settle in; this range was called the Great Smoky Mountains, and now he knew why. The chirping that had been so maddening before was fading into the background now that he wasn't trying to sleep, and he heard owls softly calling to each other—once he was certain he even saw one, a shadow with rustling wings that vanished before he could fully focus on it.

Keith walked for half an hour, stopping for a few minutes to gaze at the shadowy peaks and watch a creek flashing silver beneath the stars, then returned to the campsite. He actually wasn't tired at all now. Maybe he could just sleep while they were on the road tomorrow...

All was as he'd left it at the fire circle, except Lance was sitting up, eyes wide, nearly hyperventilating as he clutched his pillow close.

_Uh oh._

"Lance!" He kept his voice low. Best not to wake anyone until he knew what was going on, for his own sake and for his friend's. "Lance, what's wrong?"

"Nothing!"

Well _that_ was convincing. Rather than ask any more questions that would get silly answers, Keith grabbed the trembling pilot by the arm and dragged him deeper into the woods. Best to get him away from the others, hopefully get him feeling a little more comfortable. Then, with any luck, make him talk.

As they moved down the path Lance did seem to relax, slightly, but he was still shaking as Keith half-pushed him into a sitting position by the creek. "I can tell _something's_ wrong, so don't try that again. You want to talk about it?"

"No." Shudder. Reconsidering. "No, I... I will, I've gotta. I... Keith, look... what happens if we win?"

Keith blinked. "Win what?"

"The war!"

_Oh. Okay...?_ Maybe it was just because he was tired himself, but Keith could not force himself to fully grasp what Lance was trying to get at. It was there, at the fringes of his consciousness, just barely eluding him. "Well... the Alliance would be at peace."

"The Drules would be gone."

_Gone? That would be one hell of a victory_. He didn't voice the thought; slim as the potential was, it wasn't entirely unthinkable. Not possible with technology and politics as they were now. But in the future, who could know? "Wouldn't that make you happy?"

"Wouldn't it? Shouldn't it?" Lance shook his head vigorously. "I was dreaming..."

_Obviously_. Keith kept that one to himself also. "About winning the war?"

"Yeah." Shivering, the other pilot pulled his jacket closer and gave his friend a pained look. "The war was over and the Drules were gone and I... I didn't have anything left, Keith! I didn't have anyone to hunt... anyone to hate... anything to live for..." His eyes were glittering; it was impossible to tell if it was just the starlight, or a hint of unshed tears. "But I'm not like that... am I?"

"Of course you're not!" The denial was reflexive. Forceful. It was not insincere, but Keith hadn't really _thought_ about it, either. It couldn't be true, because Lance so desperately wanted it not to be true, and anything but a denial would devastate him. Yet... ultimately the answer was so much simpler.

Lance stared into the water. "I don't want to be like that," he murmured.

"You won't be. You _aren't_." Keith walked over and gripped his shoulders. "You've got us."

"I've got you," his friend repeated as if he didn't understand. But he was calming now. "I've got..." Silence. He looked up. "Thanks."

"You going to be okay?"

"Yeah. This... isn't all that uncommon." Lance stood, avoiding his gaze. "I think it might get better now. Because I think you're right." He sighed. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Lance." Searching for words took him a minute. "It's good that you're thinking about it... worrying about it. That's how you know you're still sane."

"Yeah... yeah." A faint smile. "Thanks, Keith. I feel a lot better now."

"Excellent. If you feel better, I feel better." He meant it.

This time when they returned to camp, sleep came much more easily.

* * *

><p>After two and a half days on the road, they hit water. Judging from Lance's irritated reaction, it was not the water they were supposed to be hitting, but it was water nonetheless. Which meant they were pretty much lost.<p>

Lance blamed Sven, Sven blamed Lance, and Pidge smuggled a peek at the GPS in his wristcomp.

"We're in Michigan."

Hunk gave him a startled look. "What happened to you not knowing anything about Earth geography?"

Pointing to the device after making sure Lance wasn't looking, he smoothly lied, "There was a sign." Shrug. "Don't ask me what it means, or where Michigan is in relation to anything _else_."

"We're way north and a little west of the Garrison, then. Michigan was a political entity at one point, and kept its regional name after the Reformation," Keith explained. "It's actually two peninsulas that aren't naturally connected."

"Seems like a silly arrangement. What brought that on?"

"I'm not sure. Something about a war with Ohio."

Pidge did not remember any war between a Michigan and an Ohio from military history, but then, he and Hunk _had_ made a point of skipping most of those classes. Commander Tetsuya's twice-weekly torture chamber was in fact off of their revised schedules, which just proved the Arus Expeditionary Force was the greatest assignment _ever_.

Historical non-conflicts aside, both driver and navigator seemed to find the name of their location useful. That was the important part.

"This must be one of the Great Lakes, then?"

"Must be. The Upper Peninsula ought to suffice for this trip, to be honest."

"Excellent. Is there a bridge somewhere around here?"

"How should I know? It's your continent."

"What do you mean it's my continent? It's your planet!"

Obviously sensing where this was about to go, Keith jumped in. "There's a bridge at the very northern tip of the Lower Peninsula. It's pretty famous, actually. You two should read up on your architectural history sometime."

"I _was_ studying architecture," Sven muttered, "but the only bridges we ever heard about were the ones that fell down."

Pidge and Hunk exchanged glances. They'd both seen a few architecture classes in their day. "ARC204 with Captain Talbot, huh?"

"None other."

Lance steadfastly refused to waive his rule about maps, and stopping to ask directions was certainly out of the question. The only other option was to find north and just start following the coast, which was precisely what they did. Soon enough, they were across a very long bridge and in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

Pidge was impressed. Spending most of his time in the technological haven of Galaxy Garrison, he'd gotten the impression most of Earth was like that: a highly developed planet with no natural beauty left. He was glad to have that misconception corrected. Not that he had anything against technology—quite the opposite—but there was a balance to be drawn between steel and wood, the buildings and the forests.

He wondered what Arus was like. Colonel Hawkins had described it as largely agrarian, so maybe it was something like this... green and beautiful, though perhaps more fields than trees.

It was quite late by the time they found a campsite on the shores of another lake, and set up for the duration. With a week of leave, 'the duration' would only be a couple of days, but Hunk was treating it as if they were about to be cast into the wilderness for months.

"Alright, listen up! We're all gonna have to follow Keith's example and sleep inside while we're here. Too cold to sleep on the ground this far north, you'll get sick, and I do _not_ want germs and snot in my masterpiece." He patted the side of the RV. "Breakfast is whenever we wake up. Lunch is whenever we get hungry. Dinner is whenever it gets dark. Any questions?"

"Do you realize it's pitch black outside and we haven't eaten?" Lance asked.

"Workin' on it!" Yanking a metal fire ring, a grate, and some wood from the cargo section, he proceeded to do just that, throwing steaks on the grill and launching into a lecture on the proper preparation of s'mores.

They were off to a good start.

* * *

><p>Nighttime was a waiting game.<p>

Arranging themselves on a dock near their campsite, the team kept occupied by telling ghost stories. Hunk had a formidable arsenal of traditional campfire tales, while Keith was an expert in paranormal military lore. Sven had both Norse and Japanese mythology to draw on, and Pidge had all kinds of street superstitions from Balto.

Lance had heard a few spooky stories that he could easily have retold, but preferred to make it up as he went along. So far he had a perfect record going; three stories, three twist endings, three lunges at Hunk which caused the big engineer to scream and try to hide behind Pidge.

Now Hunk was wise to the trick, of course, no longer entertaining the illusion that Lance surely wouldn't go after him _again_. He sat with a stubborn set to his jaw and defiance in his eyes, just daring the current storyteller to try it a fourth time. Everyone else kept shooting him amused glances, anticipating that hilarity was about to ensue.

That was fine. More than fine. Wonderful, actually. He was telegraphing this one, staying a step ahead of the others who thought they knew what to expect. They had no idea.

"...but when she opened the closet, there was nothing there... and then... RARRRGH!"

He lunged. Just not at Hunk.

Sven yelped and jerked backwards; the first problem with that, of course, was that he was already on the edge of the dock. Flailing out to balance himself he grabbed the closest thing he could reach, which happened to be Lance. Who had already overextended his own center of gravity quite a bit.

_...Ah crap_.

SPLASH.

The lake hit him like a ton of bricks. Very, very cold bricks. He got a mouthful of fishy-tasting water which was at least, thankfully, not salty—there were some benefits to being camped by a lake rather than an ocean after all. Recovering and scrambling to the surface he found Sven already with his head above the water, holding one of the dock supports and cursing up a storm.

Upon seeing his friend surface, he favored Lance with a glare that really ought to have turned the whole lake to ice. "I will _kill you in your sleep_, Lance."

The three still on the dock were laughing like maniacs. Lance wasn't worried about the death threat; he got those fairly often. He laughed too. "Oh, man, that was worth it. That was _so_ worth it. The look on your face..." Fighting the weight of his drenched clothes, he made his way over to the dock as well. "I would do that again. I would do that a thousand more times."

"Go for it," Sven shot back. "You'll get hypothermia before I do." But he was grinning, too, as the initial shock wore off.

He had a point there, Lance mused; this water probably barely ranked as _cold_ by his standards. It wasn't a battle he was likely to win. Best to reconsider. Or at least wait until they got somewhere with a warmer lake.

"You two need some help?" Keith chuckled, kneeling over the edge and reaching out to his soaked friends.

The two in the water exchanged glances. Lance knew exactly how to respond to such an offer, and the cool, wicked glint in Sven's eyes said his thoughts were on the same page. "Sure, Keith, thanks for volunteering. You know what they say..." Paddling over, Lance grabbed their rescuer's right hand while Sven took his left. "...Misery loves company!"

Both yanked as hard as they could, and Keith went tumbling into the lake with them.

He came up within about five seconds, coughing and sputtering and spitting water in all directions. "I'm going to kill you _both_ in your sleep!"

"That's okay." Sven was laughing so hard he was doubled over, as much as was possible while still clinging to the dock. "We'll die happy."

"Absolutely."

Something was still missing: they had two teammates who were still completely dry. Before Lance could even start thinking about how to remedy that problem, it was solved for him.

"Hold your breath, little buddy!" Pidge tensed at the warning, but it was entirely too late; Hunk lifted him up and pitched him into the lake, then took a flying leap into the water himself. "CANNONBALL!"

Before Hunk could resurface, Pidge dove under the water and came back up with the big man's headband. "Trophy!"

This was shaping up to be excellent, actually. Lance knew an opportunity when he saw it; he studied Pidge for a few moments, made sure Hunk actually reached the surface, then came to his decision. Removing his shoes—dead weights that they were—and pitching them to the bank, he swam over to the small pilot and seized the band before he could react. "Keep away!"

He darted back and hid behind Keith, who looked very affronted and responded in the only logical manner: by grabbing the headband and dunking Lance's face in the water.

"Oh, it's _on_."

It was probably just as well the aurora didn't put in an appearance that night; they were all so busy trying to drown each other that they never would have noticed it.

* * *

><p>The next day was quiet, as everyone seemed to decide that the lake fiasco had been enough excitement for a 24-hour period. Lance taught the group Valkanian Straights, a poker variant popular on his home colony, and soundly thrashed the whole team before Pidge revolted and started chasing him around with a chess set.<p>

Given his natural talent for mathematics, Sven had been the only one who actually took Pidge up on the challenge. Silly thing to do, really. He lost—_badly_—and they went back to poker by the fireside until it got dark, then stared at the sky telling horror stories about professors until retreating to the RV to sleep. Still no aurora.

Their final day at Lake Superior started out with Hunk cooking pancakes. Over a campfire.

"Now you're just showing off," Lance accused as he drenched his breakfast in syrup.

"You complaining?"

"Of course not."

Sven laughed softly and picked distractedly at his own pancakes. He was thinking. Today could go one of two ways... it could be very peaceful, with everyone talking and taking in the scenery, waiting for their last nightfall in the north. Or it could be a complete disaster where they tried to fit as much chaos into one day as possible.

As it happened, the weather decided for them. It started raining.

"You cannot even be _serious_," Pidge complained as they all piled back into the RV. "Haven't we gotten wet enough this trip?"

"Relax, little buddy." Hunk was already setting up shop in the vehicle's kitchen. "We'll pop some popcorn and watch some movies. Everyone pick one. Got a super big screen TV in this beauty."

"Of course you do," Lance chuckled, flopping into a seat and jumping right back up with a yelp as the entire wall behind him lit up. "AGH! ...Dude, that goes so far beyond big screen it's not even funny."

"I thought it was funny," Keith countered, sitting against the opposite side and drawing his knees to his chest. "What kind of movies do you have in here?"

"Anything Pidge can pull off our internet hookup."

"Therefore, anything," Pidge clarified.

"Keith wants to watch _Yamato the Blood-Borne_," Lance offered helpfully. "It's the only movie he ever watches. I think it might be the only movie he even knows the title of."

Their leader threw a stray knight from Pidge's chess set at his friend, but did not actually argue the point. He couldn't have argued it if he'd wanted to. Because Lance was right; the three of them got together for movie nights on a regular basis, and Keith always brought the same film to the party.

Pidge typed furiously on his wristcomp, then pitched his voice as deep as it would go—which wasn't very deep at all, really, but Sven gave him points for effort. "A war drama about the climactic Battle of Gemini IV. Five stars. Gripping and powerful. A masterpiece of human emotion, team spirit, and the trials of combat." He rolled his eyes and resumed his normal voice. "I am shocked, Keith. _Shocked_."

"Oh, shut up and download it."

"Shut up? _Shut up? _You told me to shut up! I'm so proud of you. We'll get you a personality yet."

Keith found another knight to throw at him.

A salty, buttery aroma began drifting through the confines of the vehicle, and a few minutes into the movie Hunk planted a hubcap-sized bowl of popcorn in the middle of the team. "Eat up, guys, cuz this is gonna be lunch. Dinner, too, if this rain doesn't let up."

The rain did not let up during _Yamato the Blood-Borne, _which was its usual gripping and powerful self. Nor did it let up during _Road Rats_, a racing comedy that had the whole team in stitches—Hunk's choice, obviously. Nor did it let up during _Akira X_, a remake of a very old and very famous animated movie, which got Sven some incredulous looks when he suggested it.

By the time Pidge started threatening them with _Oliver & Company_—whatever that was—the downpour had trailed off into a steady, gentle shower that nonetheless was enough to keep them indoors. Lance, his curiosity apparently sparked by the movie threat, insisted they actually go with it. Turned out _Oliver & Company_ was an ancient cartoon about singing cats and dogs; they made it through the first ten minutes before he started stabbing Pidge with a bishop.

"Hey, you asked for it!"

"Yeah, and I know better now. Turn that atrocity off and track down _Echelon Six_, would you?"

_Echelon Six_ was a comedic spy film; Sven and Keith had seen it twice before, and excused themselves briefly to make a new batch of popcorn, since Hunk was thoroughly transfixed by the movie.

"Looks like we're not going to see what we came for," Sven observed, a little apologetically. If the rain and clouds didn't lift very quickly, there would be no chance of _seeing_ the lights even if they were active that night. "We'll get you up to Norway yet, though." He had attempted to invite his friends for a visit more than once, and while Lance always made it, Keith's schedule always fell through.

There was warmth in his friend's pale eyes. "It doesn't really matter, Sven. I think our mission's been more than accomplished here."

Hysterical laughter from the other side of the RV; the movie's titular spy had just gotten himself stuck in a cat carrier. Sven looked back and grinned. "Fair point."

By the time that movie was over, the rain had lifted, but Hunk was expressing some doubt that he could start a fire after the soaking the ground had just gotten. "Maybe best to just do dinner inside tonight anyway. I brought some frozen pizzas, just in case." He sounded disgusted at his own proposal.

Lance's jaw dropped. "Don't tell me you don't like _pizza_."

"I love pizza. When I make it. This stuff? Hardly worthy of the name!" He pulled three slabs of frozen dough, sauce, and cheese out of the RV's freezer and began warming up the stove. "Call me a food snob."

"You're a food snob."

"Damn straight."

"Hey guys..." Pidge was up front, leaning over the dashboard, staring at the newly clear sky with wide eyes. "Check this out! Nobody told me you had zegrana clouds on Earth."

Sven had never heard of such a thing; admittedly, his grasp of esoteric English was far from complete. Then again, Pidge's grasp on English was similarly incomplete, and _zegrana_ surely did not sound typical of the language. Wondering which of them had just hit the linguistic barrier, he moved up front to see what the kid was looking at, and was rewarded with a blast of verdant light.

"...Keith, you'll want to get outside right about now." He looked at Pidge. "What does zegrana mean, exactly?"

"Oh, sorry. I think it's literally something like 'sky curtain', why?"

Keith had not actually gone outside, he'd joined them in the cab. Briefly. He was already halfway out of the vehicle when he fielded the question. "Because that's what _we_ call the aurora borealis."

Pidge drew back, startled. "Oh! Well why didn't someone just say so?" He joined the others as they scrambled outside, staking out positions and watching the colored fire writhing in the sky.

"Why should we have to say so? Maybe if you got out of the Dungeon once in awhile you'd learn these things," Hunk teased.

"Awww..." The little engineer put on his best whiny child act, which wasn't remotely convincing to anyone. "You know you miss my charming company when I'm not hanging out with you 24/7."

"Well, I _do_ feel better when I can keep an eye on you and be sure you're not starting any bar fights."

"I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

Four voices answered in perfect unison. "NO."

Sven dropped into the rain-soaked sand, next to Keith. "Everything you were hoping for?"

Silence for several moments. Keith was gazing into the night, shifting greens and reds reflecting in his eyes, and for a moment it looked like he was somewhere else entirely... vanished into space, leaving the earth far behind.

It faded swiftly, and he nodded. "Everything."


	5. Departure

**Arusian Crusade: Deployment**  
>Chapter 4: Departure<p>

* * *

><p>For two months after the road trip, every Saturday night found two cadets holed up in a garage on the outskirts of the Garrison. Working, of course. The project always went well past curfew, but as long as they didn't try to sneak back into the dorm, nobody was likely to notice that. And they had no need to go back to the dorm when they had an epic RV handy.<p>

Tonight all that effort was finally paying off.

"How's it looking, little buddy?"

"Looks excellent. She's all ready to fly." Pidge looked down from where he was sitting on the vehicle's roof. "When Keith sees this it's going to be beautiful."

"It really is," Hunk agreed, studying the two rotors which now extended from the top of the RV with a smile as proud as any parent's. "But we aren't quite finished yet. I've got one more little detail that'll make this baby perfect."

Pidge jumped to the ground. "What's that?"

"This." Producing a bottle of grape soda, Hunk smashed it on the side of the RV with a flourish, then tried for his most dignified tone. "I hereby christen thee, the Roflcopter!"

"...You did not."

"I did!"

"_Awesome_."

* * *

><p>"Robeast approaching. Activate omega protocols." They were long past the point of commenting on the order; even Lance had gotten sick of asking if he had to do it. Keith waited for his cockpit to finish reconfiguring, checked to be certain everyone else was in proper formation, then hit a few switches which caused panels to glow all around him. "Omega protocols fully engaged. Lance, Pidge, do your thing."<p>

"On it!"

Pidge and Lance shot forward, both activating their secondary weapon sets, the other three ships trailing in their wake. Switching trajectory at the last second they scythed across the robeast's chest. Keith pulled back as his own craft was yanked along for the ride—if he was understanding his instruments correctly, the lead ships were actually drawing all weapons power from the other three in the formation.

That might _begin_ to explain the practical applications of this thing... but surely there had to be easier ways...

Energy poured from the lead ships as they moved, and the robeast split fully in half, collapsing with a dull thud. "Ha! That's fire in your _face_, ugly!" Lance crowed as they broke formation.

"Alright, alright. Don't get cocky!"

The simulated robeasts were not actually to the point of fighting back yet, but there was still something incredible about watching the mightiest war machines of the Drule Supremacy shatter from a single blow. For as long as the Alliance and Supremacy had had contact—certainly for as long as Keith had ever known—robeasts were the stuff of nightmares, avatars of death and destruction which could, with a single unit, counter a full fighter squadron or armored division. Or, left unchecked, level a city.

_Don't get cocky_. He kept saying it. They'd first discovered the maneuver by accident, and only the two seemed capable of pulling it off. But they were pulling it off consistently. It was something, and it _worked_. Could he really blame them for starting to feel confident?

Colonel Hawkins was sitting at the monitor bank as usual, but he was giving them an odd look as they exited the sim pods. "Impressive work. That robeast never even knew what hit it."

Keith waved the compliment off impatiently. "You look worried, sir. What's the problem?"

Nodding his appreciation for Keith's observational skills, the colonel studied each of the pilots in turn. "The tactical reports from Arus are getting worse. We need to expedite your deployment." He gestured to the monitors. "Honestly, I'm not sure how much more you can do here. You've pretty much mastered the ships in their primary configurations, and you're at least competent in omega protocols..."

"...Despite the fact that omega protocols fly like a glitchy video game rather than serious military hardware," Lance grumbled.

"Yes, despite that." The colonel pressed a few buttons on his wristcomp. "We did relay your concerns to King Alfor. He apologizes profusely, but promises it will be easier once you reach Arus and see what you're dealing with. We were lucky to even get that much out of him at this stage, I think. The Ninth Kingdom has gotten much more aggressive about intercepting communications over the last month or so." He looked to Keith. "Cadet Commander Kogane. Is your team prepared for deployment?"

_Good question_. Keith looked at the other four, who met his gaze with confident nods. They were a good team—as good as they could be in these circumstances, most likely. Hawkins was right. More training might be a waste of time. "Yessir."

The colonel stood and removed something from a pouch at his side. Five somethings. Keith's eyes narrowed slightly as he realized what Hawkins was holding; five rank pins of the type usually used for brevet promotions. Or graduation ceremonies.

_Oh_...

He startled a little as Hawkins pinned the silver chevron on his chest, then moved on to the others, who met the gesture with various mixes of surprise and discomfort. Nobody had even seen deployment coming so quickly, let alone this...

The colonel stepped back. "I do apologize for the lack of ceremony. You understand the circumstances."

"Of course, sir!" He might've been slightly too emphatic, and covered it with a swift salute. The rest of the team did likewise.

Hawkins returned the salute, then nodded. "Lieutenant Kogane, your team will deploy at 1200 hours on Thursday. Be at Auxiliary Hanger 6C at least thirty minutes ahead of departure for your final briefing. Do not arrive in uniform. You all have the next two days off for personal preparation."

* * *

><p>Keith walked into his aunt's office slowly. Air Commodore Laurel Kogane was a legend, a hero of the Rift War, but she did not speak of heroics. She did not speak of the war at all, in most cases, unconcerned with glory or rewards. What concerned her was not the hundreds of lives under her command that she'd saved, but the two she'd failed to save. Two who'd died bravely, but died nonetheless.<p>

A picture of Keith's parents was sitting on her desk.

He looked at the picture and sighed. In appearance he favored his father's dark curls and frosty blue eyes, though Aunt Laurel always said he acted more like his mother. He had not known them well, but hoped to at least make them proud.

She was typing furiously, not looking at him, and he remained silent. Finally she looked up and smiled. A brief look at his rank pin and her eyes widened, slightly. "Sorry to make you wait, Keith."

"It's not a problem. I know I didn't give much warning."

His aunt stood, came around her desk, and hugged him. "Congratulations, sweetie. _Lieutenant_. I understand you're deploying soon."

Hugging her back, he nodded. "Thursday, that's why the graduation was so abrupt. Word gets around fast, huh?"

"The officer grapevine is quicker and more efficient than our secured commlines," she agreed with a laugh. "I've heard wonderful things about your team."

"Don't tell me about it. We don't need to be reading our own press releases."

Nodding, respecting his decision, Aunt Laurel motioned him to a seat. "It's certainly an unusual mission they've set you on."

"Unusual doesn't _begin_ to cover it. Do you know anything about this King Alfor we're going to serve under?" He'd been wanting to ask her that for some time, but kept putting it off. Gossip seemed like a poor way to scout for a mission. But less than 48 hours from deployment, he suddenly had panic running through him. He still didn't know enough.

She frowned. "I've heard of him, but little more. The Denubian wing of the Alliance is usually very quiet." Typing again. Pulling up an intel memo. "Alfor the Third of Arus. Trained at the academy as an engineer; recalled to take the throne before he could graduate. Offered Arus as a forward post during the Rift War, but it was never used due to the Ninth Kingdom pulling back so early in the conflict—a move none of our experts saw coming, but Alfor predicted it. He has a maximum security clearance, and an intel reliability record well above our average analyst's score. Must be quite a man."

Truthfully she had no business telling him any of this. There had been a time such a conversation would have started with an admonishment about its classified nature. No more. Keith knew what was expected of him, and Aunt Laurel knew his integrity was beyond question.

Though she really had always known that anyway. She'd raised him as her own, after all... she knew him very well.

"I'm nervous," he admitted after a stretch of comfortable silence. "I guess that's normal for the first deployment, right?"

"That's normal for _any_ deployment. My squad commander always told us that if you aren't a little bit nervous before a mission, you aren't taking it seriously enough."

Keith supposed that made sense, but he felt something more than what he would expect from pre-mission jitters. An overwhelming premonition that something, somewhere, was wrong. Terribly wrong. He'd refused to voice it to the team; the burden of command was _his_ to bear, and there was no sense worrying them. After a few moments of thought he chose not to mention it to his aunt, either. "I guess so."

She smiled at him. "You have a good team, Keith, and they'll have your back. Relax a little. You'll worry yourself sick if you focus on being nervous all the way to Arus. That's no good for anyone, least of all you."

A soft chiming sound from the console; someone else was here to meet with the air commodore. Keith stood. He knew he was squeezing this visit into a tight schedule; he'd be lucky to see any more of his aunt before leaving Earth. "I'd better be going. Wish me luck."

"Good luck," she nodded solemnly. "And Keith..." Hesitation. Just for a moment. "You must promise me you'll take care of yourself."

He looked to the picture of his parents, then back to his aunt, and nodded. "I promise."

* * *

><p>Hunk never expected to get a word in edgewise at home, and his siblings were not disappointing him tonight. Usually it didn't bother him; he was content to sit back and watch his brothers tearing up the house, anticipating the task of repairing everything and savoring every moment of it. But today was not a normal day, and he was pretty sure he needed to announce his big news before he got too caught up in the madness and forgot why he'd made the visit in the first place.<p>

That happened sometimes.

Akira and Damon were arm wrestling at the kitchen table, and the only possible result was that they would be full-body wrestling within the next ten minutes. He dealt with them first. "Break it up, you old fogeys. I've got something important to say and you both better be conscious for it!"

Damon, the youngest of the family after Hunk himself, swatted him away with a chuckle. "Watch who you're calling old, squirt, or we'll have to mop the floor with you to prove we can still move."

"Hey now! What've you been doing while I've been at the academy, playing football? You know how to tackle a guy in spandex and I'm a _trained killing machine_."

Both brothers erupted in laughter, then made a great show of cowering from their kid brother for a few moments. Akira finally leaned back. "Well, if you insist, I guess we better hold off on the wrestling championship for now. But you know this pipsqueak owes me for those cheap shots last Thanksgiving." He glowered at Damon, who looked rather proud of himself. "We'll grab Mom and Dad if you can drag in the birdbrains."

"Sounds like a plan." It never failed to amuse Hunk when his brothers got to bantering. He knew for a fact that Akira and the 'pipsqueak' he'd just been accusing were precisely the same height and weight. In fact, all the brothers were pretty much the same size except Hunk, who'd earned his nickname by virtue of being significantly _smaller_.

He'd had to show the whole team a family photo before anyone believed that.

Kenji and George were in the backyard, always their first stop when the Garrett family got together, talking about birdwatching. Or more accurately, comparing notes about the various birds they'd seen in their most recent travels, then arguing about whose trophies were more impressive—or who was flat out lying about them. They could usually be counted on to come to blows by the end of the night. Whoever won the fistfight claimed victory in the birdwatching contest.

_Freaks_. Hunk had come to understand the appeal of camping, but he was never going to understand the allure of _birds_.

To his own surprise, he found them sitting together quite calmly, sitting at the picnic table and sipping hard lemonade. "You guys aren't punching each other yet?"

George grimaced. "He won by default. Red-crowned crane. I'm not gonna pick a fight with someone _that_ lucky."

Asking questions was dangerous, because his brothers were usually happy to answer them, so Hunk opted for just smiling and nodding. "Uh, congrats, Kenji! Can you two come inside for a few minutes? I've got something to tell everybody."

As promised, Akira and Damon had rounded up their parents and pushed them to the head of the dining room table, as they ought to be. Reginald and Ayaka Garrett looked over their big, happy, chaotic family with smiles on their faces. Madness was just a way of life in the Garrett household, the more the merrier, and their sons never, _ever_ disappointed on that front.

"So what's your big news, Hunk?" Damon demanded, slouching in his own seat. "And if you're engaged, let me get out of the room first and die of shame, okay?"

Hunk rewarded that comment with a wicked smirk. "Well, now that you mention it... you know my little buddy Pidge? We're pretty serious." That was a joke he'd used before, and they were wise to it. Nobody even took it seriously enough to throw anything at him, though Kenji kicked him under the table, and he shrugged it off. "Nah. I've had a kinda sudden graduation," he pointed to the silver band on his chest, "and the Arus Expeditionary Force deploys to the Denubian this Thursday."

Silence for a few moments, in a family that did not know silence. Then his mother was hugging him, his father was beaming, and his brothers were whooping as if they'd just won the Super Bowl, or a sumo championship, or seen a red-crowned crane.

"All right! Our kid brother's goin' intergalactic!"

"Sweet!"

"Grats, little dude!"

"Sure you're gonna survive that, bro? What if Arus only has cheap take-out?"

Shooting Akira a horrified glance—he hadn't even thought of _that_ risk—Hunk made up his mind in an instant. Hesitation wasn't his style. "Guess I'd better make the most of my last days here then, just in case. I'll cook dinner."

Another round of cheers. He couldn't help wondering if he'd just been baited into that, but ultimately he didn't much care.

* * *

><p>Sven always expected his bedroom to have somehow changed without him. <em>He<em> changed. It was jarring to come back here and see everything just as he'd left it. Jarring, but not unpleasant... it was good to know there were still a few constants in the world.

From a drawer in his bedside table he retrieved a small, dark blue amulet. An omamori—a protective charm. In this case, one meant to provide fortune in battle. He'd purchased the charm on his one visit to Japan, and saved it for this moment. A faint chill went through him as he stowed the amulet in his jacket.

With equal reverence he removed the only other object in the drawer, a small silver charm in the shape of a hammer. It, too, was meant to bring good luck; the charm had been passed down on his father's side of the family since before there was an Alliance to serve. He tucked it away next to the amulet and closed the drawer slowly.

This really was it... he still had a hard time believing it was time to leave.

He leaned on the windowsill and stared out at the waters of the Hardangerfjord, trying to grasp the idea that he would not be back here again for a very long time. How long? Impossible to guess. If things went badly on Arus... perhaps never. Not a thought he was willing to entertain for long, but he committed the water to memory anyway. He didn't want to lose this place.

After some time Sven became aware that he was being watched, and turned his head slightly. "Mother."

Kirsten Holgersson gazed back at her son calmly. "I didn't hear you come in."

"Sorry." He wasn't; he'd intentionally entered the house as quietly as possible. Stalling. This was going to be a difficult discussion, and while he knew he couldn't avoid it entirely, he'd hoped to put it off a little longer than this.

He had not actually gotten around to telling his parents about his current assignment yet.

There was no good reason for it. His relationship with his parents was not unhappy. Just... perhaps the slightest bit awkward. Always awkward. For the most part Sven held people at a distance, and his parents had accepted that, watching quietly as their son tried to balance a heritage he hardly knew and a duty he refused to fail.

They indulged but did not understand his fascination with his ancestral culture. It was nothing against them, far from it. Of his actual birth Sven knew only two things. His biological parents had not wanted him. And his adoptive parents _had_ wanted him... had _chosen_ him. He treasured that fact more than they could ever know.

Taking a deep breath, he faced his mother and said quietly, "I have a long story to tell you."

"I already know. General Wegener mentioned the assignment to your father months ago."

_What?_ Panic shot through him, ice gripping his chest. Of course he'd been ratted out. By a _general_, no less. If there was any possible way for this to go well, he couldn't see it. Rather than try to make excuses he opted to just get it over with. "We're deploying Thursday."

A nod, accepting this. Too calm. "Your father should be back tomorrow. He'll want to see you before you leave, of course... though you know how he hates goodbyes." Her eyes, bluer than the water outside, bored into him, but she didn't seem angry. He was pretty sure she ought to be angry. "Why didn't you tell us before now?"

"Because it's about the most bizarre, confusing, nontraditional mission ever? Because we're not even going to be under direct Alliance command? I just thought..." His mother was looking progressively more distressed as he tried to explain himself, so he fell silent. The point was made.

She looked at him sadly. "Surely you can't imagine we would disapprove."

Well then. Yes, that was _exactly_ what he'd been imagining, and couldn't hide his shock quickly enough. "I..."

"Oh, Sven." His mother swept into the room and seized his shoulders. "You've sacrificed much and walked a difficult path. We know that. We are very, very proud of you... and you must _never_ believe otherwise."

It seemed to beg for a response, but he couldn't find any words. So he just hugged her for a long time, wondering why there were tears in his eyes.

* * *

><p>Pidge was lying on his bed with some paper and a pen. Sure, he could type faster than he could scribble down this barely-legible nonsense, but writing by hand felt so much more intimate.<p>

_Dear Jyari and Chip,_

_So I just graduated from the academy. I was as surprised as you probably are. Looks like things are getting messy on Arus, so we got a thirty second ceremony and deployment orders. Just call me Specialist Darrel Stoker. Actually, don't call me that. I like my name the way it is. Specialist Pidge. That has a better ring, don't you think?_

_Ugh, I think I'm just rambling... I'm still kind of in shock._

_We're shipping out in two days. Feels like we've been training forever, though I guess it really hasn't been so long at all, just a few months. Feels like I've been away from home forever, too. It's going to be nice to come back to the Denubian, even if Arus is nowhere near Balto._

_Kind of a shame. I was hoping to still be at the academy when you made it here, Chip. You _are_ still coming someday, aren't you? You've got to now, I want to know what a normal deployment's like! And a normal graduation, for that matter._

_As soon as we get a little free time I'll drop by to see you two. Mind if I bring Hunk along for the visit? He's heard so much and desperately wants to meet you._

_Love,_

_Pidge_

He folded the paper and sighed. Writing letters was not his strong point. Such a poor imitation for being able to see them, talk to them, tell them everything... but it was the only way to communicate with the two he'd left behind, so he _tried_.

The prospect of returning to his native galaxy was pleasant. Confusing, but pleasant. When you started talking about interstellar distances, terms like 'close to home' lost their meaning. Three thousand light years was not close. But it was closer than being in another galaxy altogether, and that had to be good for _something_... even if that something was only sentimental value.

Nothing wrong with sentiment. Sentiment had made Jyari seek out two crossbreeds, wishing only to do something good, to be helpful. Sentiment allowed Pidge and Chip, biologically unrelated as they were, to call each other brothers. Sentiment was a good thing.

The Dungeon seemed empty without Hunk, and he supposed that was all sentiment too. He wondered how the others were doing... three of them were from Earth, after all. They would be leaving their home planet very soon, probably for the first time. He knew what it was like to leave a homeworld. Terrifying, yet exhilarating... forging into the unknown, a blank future that could hold anything from fortune to horror.

He knew it all so well.

Leaving the Dungeon would be odd, too. It was not a home planet, but it was a home nonetheless, and he'd come to love this basement workshop masquerading as a bedroom. Then again, the most important thing about the Dungeon was his roommate. And his roommate would be on Arus with him.

Along with three others he never would have even dreamed of speaking to if it weren't for this assignment, and yet the other three were all wonderful in their own ways. Perhaps he was still conditioned to assume he was an outcast... maybe he could've made more friends while he was here, if he'd just tried talking to a few more people. But it didn't matter.

He had all he needed, and he had no regrets.

Lying back on his bed, Pidge stared at the ceiling and waited, impatiently, for Thursday.

* * *

><p>Lance had no one to say goodbye to. As the others went their separate ways to prepare for their departure, he found himself still on the campus of the academy. Alone.<p>

It didn't bother him that much. He could handle being alone. There was nothing good about it, but he could handle it. He'd been alone when they pulled him from the lake, fire raging all around him... and he'd remained alone until meeting Keith, years later, at the military boarding school they'd thrown him in as a ward of the Alliance.

He could probably have been forgiven if he'd hit the streets for a night and drowned his sorrows somewhere, but bars really weren't that much fun without company. Besides, there was no sense trying to pick up any girls with an extragalactic deployment looming. He liked to at least have the option of calling again.

Instead he found himself heading for the training room. Not because of his spectacular work ethic, but because the sims really _were_ fun to fly. He loved piloting for far more than just its Drule-killing merits, and the Arusian craft was the smoothest thing he'd ever seen. He had a night alone to try some stunts and other maneuvers Keith wouldn't approve of... why not?

"Thought you might show up here, McClain."

He must've jumped five feet in the air as Lieutenant Brown's voice drifted in from his left. "What are you—don't scare me like that!"

"Sorry." The mousy-looking officer was sitting at the briefing table, watching him calmly. "You do know the pods are shut down for the night?"

Actually that hadn't even occurred to him, and he reddened slightly. "Oh. Um..."

"Don't worry. Like I said, I figured you'd turn up sooner or later." Brown stood and walked over to the monitor bank. "It'll take about five minutes to fire yours up."

Lance frowned. The lieutenant usually hovered in the background, watching carefully as Hawkins did all the talking, performing mostly as an aide. The team had not gotten to know him very well, and it was hard to say what was behind this behavior. Lance didn't ask because he didn't care; he had better requests to spend his breath on. "Start two of 'em up, would you? I could use a wingman."

"Of c..." Pause. "Um, there isn't anyone else here."

"You're here."

A startled look. "You've got to be kidding."

Leaning up against his sim pod, Lance shook his head impatiently. "Dude, you've been watching us fly these things for three months, don't tell me you don't know how it's done. Hop in a pod and let's shoot some Drules, huh?"

Brown looked at him for a few very, very long seconds, then went back to typing. "I... uh... I can probably manage not to embarrass myself, but I probably won't be much help, either."

"Sure you will. You'll be company." Two of the pods hummed as they began to come to life. "Not to mention a witness as I perform a Cuban Eight and a few Immelmanns and maybe some other maneuvers that would give Keith a hemorrhage if I asked permission beforehand..."

The lieutenant raised an eyebrow. "You really are a madman."

"Hells yes." Lights on the pods flickered; they were ready. "Now all aboard!"

As he practically vaulted into his own pod, he was certain he heard Brown mutter, "I'm going to regret this."

The sims started out easy on them; a wing of Drule fighters approached, firing with all the accuracy of a herd of drunken monkeys. _This is gonna be fun_. Going into a steep dive he managed to make two of the enemies slam into the ground. The others were smarter; they pulled up again, only to have the clustered lasers on the front sections of Lance's ship light them up.

One was very smart indeed, and looped back on him while he was busy shooting its buddies. _Well that's embarrassing_. As he prepared to roll and try to face the offending craft, several laser bolts cut just under his ship, and the Drule exploded into flame and shrapnel.

_One shot, one kill_. Lance arched an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. "Nice shooting, Lieutenant!"

"Situation we're in now," the lieutenant's voice was strained as his ship barely avoided the flaming debris, "you may as well call me Donovan. This is," another pause as he nearly scraped a cliff, "not a formal situation!"

"Lousy piloting, Donovan!"

"Better." His wingman fell in beside him, and Lance pitied the poor guy enough to stay level for about ten seconds. Then that was it and he was off, looping and rolling like a kid with his first flight sim, waiting for another fighter squadron to appear.

Brown was getting a little more comfortable in his cockpit, or at least he quickly got the hang of avoiding large terrain features. Before long they were shredding Drule ships as if they'd been squadmates for months rather than minutes. And in a way, Lance supposed they had been. "So what're you doing, hanging out _here_ on a night when you're on leave, anyway?"

"Didn't I already explain that? I knew you'd be showing up." The other ship's frontal cannon blasted through an oncoming line of fighters. "Remember, I've read all your psych profiles."

"Sure, sure." Not to be outdone, Lance triggered his lasers again and disintegrated the rest of the formation. "Doesn't explain why you have nothing better to do but let me in."

"Because I like you guys?" They were hovering now, waiting, but it seemed the sim had decided they'd done quite enough damage. No more fighters were forthcoming.

Lance started pulling some more loops, just because he was bored and he could, pretty much. "I guess that's sufficient. Wouldn't have killed you to talk to us once in awhile, you know? We don't bite. I mean, except Hunk. And then only if you look like bacon."

Brown chuckled, but it faded quickly and his ship's flight wavered for a moment.

..._I think I might've just hit a nerve_. "You okay?"

"Fine, just distracted." A hesitation. "You don't know how lucky you are, McClain."

"If I have to call you Donovan, you have to call me Lance," he muttered to cover his visceral reaction... which worked for a few moments. He was not lucky. This guy had read his personnel profile and should know damned well that he was anything _but_ lucky. "Why do you say that? I keep hearing that I'm lucky." He stabbed his frontal cannon viciously. "Everyone thinks being an only survivor is so damned lucky!"

"I didn't mean that!" Brown yelped, sounding shocked. "I just... here, can we get out of these things?"

"Sure. I think we killed all the pixels anyway."

Outside the pods the lieutenant gave him an apologetic look. "I didn't mean it like that," he reiterated, quickly. "I just meant... you're deploying with all your best friends. No matter what you run into on Arus you'll at least have that." He sighed. "Everyone I was close to at the academy had interstellar deployments, and here I am on my own. Watching you five brings back memories..." He trailed off. "That's all I meant."

_Oh_... Lance had never looked at things that way before. It was a good point; he would have to consider it. Maybe he was lucky, at least a little. Maybe Brown was right, just as Keith had been...

_You've got us_.

_No matter what you run into on Arus you'll at least have that._

But for the night he was still alone, except for this one lonely wingman, and he knew what had to be done. He could handle being alone... and he knew full well how wonderful it was to escape it. "Fair enough, Donovan. So, we've still got the rest of the night off, and I think the sim is sick of us. Got any favorite bars?"

* * *

><p>They met Colonel Hawkins in the hanger, next to a sleek ship that was definitely not in Alliance colors. That, along with the order not to show up in uniform, raised a few eyebrows. Of course, they only had their cadet uniforms anyway.<p>

"You aren't being issued regular uniforms; you'll be provided those on Arus. For the time being, we'd prefer the Drules not realize any Alliance personnel are arriving on their borders." Hawkins gestured to the ship. "This is the _Eclipse_, registered to a rental company with no direct Alliance ties. You're tourists. Arus is beautiful this time of year."

"Ranger-class starhopper," Hunk identified it. "Smallest ship to carry an intergalactic skip drive. Hopelessly generic. Not bad."

The colonel nodded. "Several of the point-defense weapons have been replaced with ship-to-ship variants... just in case. We don't anticipate any trouble, though. The latest report from King Alfor expects Zarkon will be capable of hitting them in four months." He looked at Sven. "I trust it won't take you any four months to reach Arus."

Frown. "Must I dignify that with a response, sir?"

"You just did."

Sven blinked, sighed as he realized he'd been beaten. "Of course not. Two months at the very worst."

"Sounds right." Hawkins looked over the team, his gaze lingering on each of them. Lieutenant Brown stood off to the side, watching the others, meeting Lance's gaze for a moment and offering a slight smile. "This is it, gentlemen. Arus is waiting." He shook each of their hands in turn. "Good luck and godspeed."


	6. Starlight and Fire

**Arusian Crusade: Deployment**  
>Chapter 5: Starlight and Fire<p>

_Thanks so much for the reviews! Glad people are enjoying this happy little jaunt.  
><em>_For the record, the skip drives described in this chapter are one part jump drives from Battletech, one part node drives from Sword of the Stars, and one part technobabble. I couldn't remember the whole intergalactic travel thing being addressed in canon._

* * *

><p>The Ranger-class was officially listed as a light touring shuttle: a small, mobile craft with maximum comforts for minimal crew. Hunk had interpreted that as meaning it was an intergalactic RV, and packed accordingly, loading the cargo section with crates and shooing everyone up front.<p>

"Now you guys stay on the bridge for a little bit while I fix the living quarters up. Gonna have to make this thing pretty awesome to make up for your not getting a flight on the Roflcopter before we shipped out."

Keith had given him an utterly blank look. "The what, now?"

"The Roflcopter! ...You know, forget the name. Ancient and confidential geek knowledge. But Pidge and I put rotors on the ol' RV just for you, and you never did get to see it."

"O... kay. Moving on."

Sven was entertained. He would've liked to be more entertained, but he was stuck on the bridge anyway, and remained there even when the others were called back to see whatever masterpiece Hunk had come up with. Navigation was pretty much a front-loaded task. For most of the trip he wouldn't have much to do, but the two days until they reached the Sol breach zone were going to be nonstop calculations and coordinates.

He already had a headache.

Oh, he was a wonderful navigator. The courses were flawless, and he could map them out faster than most of his instructors had been able to believe. That didn't make the process any less painful.

Three hours in, with the autopilot humming merrily along and the rest of the team no doubt goofing off in their quarters, Hunk came up next to him and looked at the displays. "You mind if I watch?"

"Not at all, if you aren't too distracting." Frown. Watching someone map navigation coordinates had to be right up there with watching paint dry. "Can't imagine why you'd want to..."

"Curiosity." The big engineer draped himself over the back of the seat next to his. "Was just realizing that intergalactic jumps make no sense at all. Thought maybe you'd explain it to me. Is that too much of a distraction? It can wait."

_Aha_. Sven looked back and raised an eyebrow. "Most people don't even think about that."

"I could put a skip drive together in my sleep, I know something about how they work."

"Fair point... give me a moment." He finished mapping the jump he'd been working on and turned away from the monitors. Much as he _did_ prefer not to pause once he was started calculating, he wasn't all that far in yet. "Define 'something', if you don't mind."

"Sure. Skip drives rip a hole in reality and throw the ship through extradimensional space. We've got a pretty standard model aboard the _Eclipse_ here; maximum initial jump of fifty light years, initial extradimensional speed of six hundred light years per hour. Make a lot of jumps in quick succession, and those initial values go way up each time as you build up temporal velocity." His eyes narrowed as he studied the monitors. "But you have to have a strong gravity well to make the breach. Usually stars. No stars to skip off of in between galaxies."

He had a pretty solid grasp of the discipline, really, which was good. Sven remembered being on the other side of this conversation—it had taken his NAV301 class a solid hour to figure out what an intergalactic jump actually required.

An hour was excessive right now; he had work to do. Best to lead things along. "So just make enough jumps to cover the distance in one go."

Hunk gave him a disbelieving look for a moment, then seemed to conclude it hadn't been a serious answer. "Impossible. There's not enough space in the galaxy to build up that much velocity, you can't ever double back or you start bleeding it off. Even if you had the space, it would take decades to make that many jumps."

_So far so good_. "You probably know the answer to this one better than I do. What's the primary factor in how much range and speed you build from a jump?"

No hesitation. "Strength of the gravity well."

Nodding, Sven typed a few commands and the star chart he'd been working with reoriented, focusing on the center of the galaxy. "Skipping off the galactic core will give you about fifteen million light years in two weeks, baseline. More than sufficient."

Hunk's jaw dropped. "What."

"Just what I said."

"No. No _way_. That's impos... wait. Hang on." His eyes clouded over as he ran through all the implications and possibilities. "You'd have a few nanoseconds to skip in and out before your ship squashes like a soda can. Breaking the dimensional barrier gets faster each time too. Make dozens... no... hundreds of jumps first, and you'll be able to do it."

"Exactly." Zooming out again, Sven traced a ring around the edges of the Milky Way. "We make a little more than four complete circuits along the outer rim, then jump straight into and off of the core. We end up," he switched maps, "on the edge of the Denubian Galaxy, and make another circuit or two there to cool down and not rip ourselves apart when we stop skipping. Then we can worry about Arus." He leaned back and shrugged. "Ought to take a little over a month altogether."

"That's... wow." Hunk shook his head. "No wonder you guys are crazy."

"You have an RV with rotors and you're going to call _me_ crazy?"

"Well, yeah. Doesn't that make me qualified to judge?"

"Hm..." Sven returned his attention to the console, starting to run a check on the coordinates he'd already mapped. "You know, you might be onto something there."

"It's been known to happen." His companion frowned. "How long does this usually take you to set up?"

_Long enough_. "Intergalactic jumps are usually good for about forty hours of math, if nothing goes wrong."

"That with or without sleep?"

"I don't _sleep_ when I'm mapping. I drink coffee."

Hunk chuckled, then trailed off, apparently realizing he wasn't joking. "For real?"

"For real." His eyes narrowed as the results from the check came back. Flawless, as if there had been any doubt. He ran it again. "Once I'm in that state of mind, where there's nothing but the stars and the void... I lose myself in the numbers. It's dangerous to back out until it's finished."

He could sense the slight flinch from behind him. "...No offense, but that's a little creepy." A pause. Hazel eyes reflected off the monitor, searching but sympathetic. "You don't really sound like you enjoy your job."

"I do, more or less. But intergalactic jumps are a bitch."

The big engineer's jaw dropped. "I don't believe _you_ just said _that_."

"You have not heard me in my native language." As soon as he said it he regretted it; Hunk would probably take that as a challenge. "And you're not going to."

With a disappointed groan, Hunk straightened and patted him on the shoulder. "I'll leave you to it, then. You just yell real loud if you want some company, though."

"Right. Thanks." Sven went back to work.

Quite a few hours later he became aware that something was sitting on one of the panels off to his left. A thermos and a piece of paper. For the life of him he could not recall anyone coming onto the bridge, let alone setting something right next to his console, but that was neither a surprise nor a concern under the circumstances. He took the note.

_Thought you might need this. Garrett family's totally non-trademarked energy extravaganza. Caffeine, vitamins, four different natural energy supplements. Try to drink it slowly, or you'll be wired for a week. And don't knock it 'til you try it!_

"...Of course he did." Sven shook his head. "Of _course_ he did."

Despite himself, he grinned.

* * *

><p>Somehow, Keith had never envisioned his first deployment beginning with him flopped out on a beanbag chair, losing at chess. Yet here he was.<p>

Predictable? No. Dignified? No. Comfy? Absolutely.

His first personal priority on the trip had been to find a sparring partner for the duration. Lance was always willing, but there were no surprises there. There was something to be said for fighting against familiarity—it forced him to be creative—but they would surely get sick of beating on each other after a month, regardless. Best to have a second option.

Sven was right out, and Keith knew that without asking. Robbed of his potent intimidation factor, he wasn't much good at close combat, and didn't enjoy it in any case. Hunk had begged off when asked, explaining that he preferred smashing up vehicles to smashing up his friends.

Pidge had readily agreed to go a few rounds, and proved to be an excellent test of Keith's skill and ability to improvise—he was a whirling dervish of fists and kicks with no apparent technique beyond _whatever works_. After finally ending up face-first on the floor, he'd admitted to failing everything short of basic martial training at the academy. He didn't fight well with structure.

Hard for Keith to imagine, really.

The one condition of his sparring services was chess. Nobody on the team could beat Pidge at chess, and they all knew it, but if the kid was willing to offer himself up as a punching bag Keith could hardly refuse to return the favor.

Right now his opponent pushed a rook forward, adjusted his glasses, and offered Keith an apologetic look. "Checkmate."

Just to be sure, he looked over the board, though there was really no point in double-checking when Pidge said a game was over. "Don't you ever get tired of winning?"

"Truthfully? Yes. It's boring when there isn't any challenge." He shrugged and sank deeper into his own beanbag. Hunk's idea of furnishing the crew quarters had apparently been to just import their entire dorm room. It worked surprisingly well, though Keith was sure they were violating a dozen shipboard ordinances.

_Oh well. It's not really an Alliance ship_. Born soldier or not, he felt no need to dwell on regulations for the sake of regulations.

"So why keep badgering us about it?"

"I like the game!" A hesitation. "And, uh... I don't actually know any other board games."

Keith raised an eyebrow. That _would_ do it. "That would have been a wonderful thing to know earlier. Here I thought you were just a chess fiend. Come with me."

Rangers had a roughly pentagram-shaped crew area, with a common area as the central pentagon and personal quarters at each point. Lance and Hunk were holed up in their own sections, so Keith and Pidge had been in the common area. Keith led the small pilot to his 'point' now, and dug around in one of his suitcases for a minute before pulling out an ornate wooden case.

"What's that about?"

Keith flipped the case over, revealing two bowls of small, smooth stones—one white and one black—and a playing board. "This is called Go."

"Is it related to Stop?" Pidge countered, deadpan.

He laughed. "People have been playing this on Earth since ancient times. It's much older than chess. And I'm much better at it, not that _that_ takes much." He offered Pidge the container filled with black stones. "Black moves first."

Frown. The other pilot lifted one of the pieces and studied it carefully, examined the board, then gave Keith a dirty look. "You going to tell me what to do with it?"

"Nah. You're a smart kid, you'll pick it up."

Pidge threw the stone at him. "That was a yes."

"I probably deserved that. But I enjoyed it just the same."

"Lance would be proud."

"Please don't tell him; I have a reputation to uphold." Retrieving the piece Pidge had thrown at him, Keith handed it back and motioned to the board. "Okay. See the grid? Each intersection is called a point. We take turns playing stones on the points..."

Three hours later, when Hunk charged in to complain that they were missing dinner, they were still on game number one. Keith wasn't sure what to make of that, but doubted he would be seeing chess again this trip.

* * *

><p>Circling the galaxy four times over was not remotely as exciting as it sounded. The days swiftly lapsed into a timeless blur of movies, board games, sparring drills, and long conversations about what they expected to find on Arus, broken up only by the occasional sounding of the breach alarm and the jolt of a new jump. Sometimes Pidge couldn't help feeling like they were just on another road trip. A road trip that happened to be in space. Only Keith's frequent combat readiness exercises kept him grounded, forcing him to remember their destination was an imminent war zone.<p>

They were going to _war_. He thought about it and it still didn't sound right. He was ready to fight, but the concept of warfare seemed so distant, so unreal.

He was supposed to be sleeping right now, preparing. They were close to the main event of this trip, the intergalactic jump, and he knew from his trip to Earth from Balto that such jumps were not meant to be slept through. But the whole sleeping beforehand thing just wasn't working out, so he decided to go visit whoever was on bridge duty.

Lance was sitting at the piloting console, watching the blank monitor. It did not show what was actually outside the ship; extradimensional space was an incomprehensible fog of shadows at best, a headache-inducing hail of twisting patterns and colors at the worst. Either way it could tell those inside the ship nothing, so external cameras did not transmit unless the ship was in real space.

After a brief hesitation, Pidge moved up and sat at the navigation console. "You want some company?"

"If I didn't want company I'd have hit you by now. Can't sleep?"

"Nope." The little engineer leaned back, sprawling out in the seat. "Coming up on the intergalactic jump, how can I possibly sleep? I'm excited."

"Right. This is pretty much going home for you, isn't it?"

"Pretty much." Pidge studied Lance carefully. "You said you're from Valkan VI, right? What galaxy is that in?"

"It's in the Milky Way. Just a colony of Earth." Their pilot's gaze remained on the monitor, despite the fact that it was still a blank screen. "I haven't been on a real skip trip since I left there... I'd forgotten how _weird_ it is." He gestured to the emptiness. "Moving through space but not seeing anything, I mean."

"Yeah." It _was_ jarring, to say the least. Intellectually they all knew they were blowing past planets and stars at tens of thousands of light years an hour, yet it looked and felt like the ship was completely still. Bizarre, and very difficult to forget, he would have thought. "Has it been that long since you left home?"

Silence. A long, almost painful silence as Lance's warm brown eyes seemed to catch fire. "Pidge... tell me something. When you talk about Balto you always sound like you loved it there. Why'd you decide to go to the academy?"

Pidge hesitated. He had no idea how this discussion had become about _him_, but the intensity in Lance's gaze was a little spooky. Best to answer and see where this was going.

This was not something he spoke of easily, though. Not because he was embarrassed. Far from it. But some things were personal, some memories were cherished and not spoken of without reverence. He hedged. "Someone... someone convinced me I was wasting my potential, living on the streets and stealing to survive." He, too, looked at the blank screen. "Most people on Balto don't even know there's life on other planets, let alone a Galaxy Alliance that we're a part of. A whole universe out there to discover. How could I resist?"

In response he got a strange, almost haunted look, and then he was certain relief flashed into Lance's eyes. "That's good."

"Uhh..."

"Sorry." Lance seemed to physically shake himself out of whatever had come over him. "I'm just glad you didn't leave your home for the same reason I left mine." His eyes flashed fiercely. "I was eight. I was eight when the Drules came and burned my village to the ground... and killed everyone but me. I was eight when the Alliance sent me to Earth and started teaching me to be a soldier." He laughed, but it was hollow. "I didn't need much convincing."

Though Lance's voice was smoldering, Pidge felt ice run through him as everything about his teammate fell into place. Hunk had been right, all those months ago. _They burned you, so you'll burn them... cheerfully_. "Kmai talior saroyt, trak talior trak," he mumbled.

Lance cocked his head, the flames fading. "Say what?"

"It's an old Sryka'te expression. Fight pain with laughter, fight death with death."

His companion seemed mildly taken aback. "I, um..." Then his gaze hardened. "I like that."

Pidge wasn't sure the saying was something to be _liked_. Nonetheless... he hesitated a moment, then placed a hand on his friend's arm. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"Why would you be? It's certainly not your fault."

"Just the same, I'm sorry." Pidge closed his eyes. "I can't imagine that... losing your home."

Lance offered him a faint smile. "Mind if I get philosophical for a moment?"

"I just dropped ancient Sryka wisdom on you, you may as well."

"I did lose my home... but I have another one now." He tapped Pidge on the chest, then pointed back to the crew quarters. "Only this home travels with me and laughs at my jokes... and I can protect it, and it can protect me." Another flare of fire in his eyes. Just for a moment. "But that won't stop me from repaying the Drules for what they did to the first home. Nothing will."

_Oh_... Pidge considered this. He couldn't imagine, and yet he could. He understood full well what it was like to leave one home and find another. No home was ever forgotten.

A siren shrieked through the ship, the breach alarm's crimson strobe light raking the bridge. A warning. The first warning was short, and the siren faded swiftly. "Five minutes," Lance reported, all business again. Or as close to all business as he got, anyway. "Better get the others."

"They'll be here." Sven appeared in the hatchway, and Pidge vacated the navigation console for him. "Not even Hunk could sleep through that." He started pressing buttons, watching numbers scroll by, radiating an impossible intensity. Pidge would've been disconcerted by his apparent worry, if their navigator hadn't been worrying the entire trip.

Lance had picked up on it too. "Would you _stop that_, Sven? You're the best navigator in the Alliance. The course is fine, you're just freaking us out now."

Sven muttered something that Pidge was reasonably sure was Norwegian. Whatever it was, Lance understood it and waved it off, which only made Sven more annoyed. "We're dropping in right next to a _supermassive black hole_, Lance, I don't see how you're taking this so casually."

"Call it my complete and unquestioning faith in your abilities."

"I hate you."

"I know."

By the time the second alarm sounded—two minutes to skip time—Hunk and Keith had arrived and were strapping themselves in at their own consoles. Pidge retreated to the last seat on the bridge and did likewise. Sven, eyes locked on his instruments, spoke up again. "Brace yourselves. This can't be overstated, the jump's going to hurt a lot. Try to remember that by the time you feel it, it's long over."

Lance snorted. "Is this supposed to be a pep talk?"

"No. That's Captain McKallon saying that if you're still alive to feel pain, that means it went okay."

Silence. Hunk was the one to finally break it. "...Thanks for that."

"Any time."

Pidge giggled as the final alarm started to sound. One minute and closing. He had been through this before, and knew all too well what to expect, so he was already bracing while the rest of the team was still trying to figure out what was going on. Fifteen seconds... fourteen...

"Hold your breath," Sven ordered.

Five seconds. The breach alarm's lights went white. Four... three... two... one...

Hell.

A horrendous shriek of stressed metal drowned out the siren, the entire ship protesting a maneuver that was, by all objective standards, insane. Holding his breath as instructed, Pidge was nonetheless keenly aware that the air had turned to liquid, his blood had become solid, and his body was collapsing in on itself as the _Eclipse_ touched the galactic core.

_It's already over. It's already over. It's already over!_

After an eternity that had been less than a second, he realized the hull and the breach siren had both gone silent, and the lights had shifted to the soft blue that indicated a successful extradimensional entry. Taking a deep breath he felt his lungs fill with air, not water. It _was_ over.

He'd expected screams. He remembered that from before; no amount of warning could allow a first-time traveler to anticipate the moment. But nobody had screamed here. The team remained deathly silent, exchanging looks of mixed wonder and horror, maybe trying to comprehend what they'd just been through. Maybe trying to grasp the moment as it slipped away shockingly quickly. Maybe just trying not to lose their lunch.

As was only fitting, Sven was the first to recover enough to speak. "Everyone enjoy that?" He was pale and his voice was ragged, but otherwise he seemed to have taken the jump comparatively well. After all, he'd been through a few before.

Lance told him to do some things that Pidge was pretty sure weren't physically possible.

"Hey!" Their navigator sounded indignant. "It isn't _my_ fault."

"Yeah, yeah."

Grimacing, Hunk unfastened his safety harness and stood, still wavering a little. "Tell me we don't have to go through that again eleven days from now."

"We don't. We'll be inbound on the fringes of the Denubian, not the core."

"That's the best news I've heard all week. Can I hug you?"

"Please don't." Sven stood and stretched, already moving to retreat from the bridge. "I've been crushed enough for one day."

* * *

><p>Keith found Sven sprawled out on his bed, face buried in his pillow. "You surely aren't asleep already."<p>

"Don't you know how to knock?" came the muffled response.

"The door was open."

"That's no excuse. What do you want?" He still hadn't moved. It was just going to be one of _those_ conversations, then. For a brief moment Keith considered making an issue of it; he was here in a more or less formal capacity.

More or less formal. Mostly less. If formal was how he'd really wanted to play it, he probably should've knocked.

He sat on the edge of the bed. "I just thought, as your commanding officer, I ought to come and congratulate you for a job well done back there."

A very long silence, then Sven turned over and shot him a disbelieving look. "Is your brain still recovering from the jump? You did not really just come in here to compliment me on doing my job." He sounded truly irritated, and Keith had known he would be. It was a stress reaction he had seen before... rarely. His friend did not get rattled very often.

"Okay, so I came to see how you were doing," he admitted at length. "Would you prefer I left you alone?"

Sven considered that, then looked away. "I would prefer," he said softly, "my commander not imply that I can't handle this mission without him babysitting me."

_Ouch_. Keith hadn't meant it that way, or even thought about it. And while he assumed Sven was only interpreting it like that due to stress... it stung. He didn't like it. He didn't want to leave those doubts even the slightest room to take root. "Your commander," his voice was equally soft, "refuses to take your skills for granted, and is acknowledging them. Your friend knows it takes a toll on you, and wants to be sure you're okay."

Silence. A harsh, fearsome silence.

Command was not supposed to disrupt friendship. Keith had simply assumed that to be true, and so far nobody had acted to make him rethink that belief. Suddenly he was wondering. Part of him wanted to drag the whole team together and spell it out for them, right there at that moment, before anyone else got the wrong impression. Nothing had changed—nothing but a title and a mission.

_Keep it together, Keith, he doesn't mean it. I don't think he means it. _But he needed... to say something, to get a response. To be sure.

So he tried a different angle. "You're an insufferable grouch when you're upset, you know that?"

"So I've heard. And yet, you're still here."

"I did ask if you wanted to be left alone."

A pause, then his friend turned to look at him again and gave a defeated sigh. "You know I don't, Keith. You know I don't."

Relief washed over him, pure and beautiful. Nothing had changed after all. "Then I'll stay."

"Thanks... I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I understand."

* * *

><p>Normal jumps had stopped being interesting or notable well before the skip off the galactic core, and by the time they were halfway around the Denubian, Pidge was pretty much tuning the breach warnings out unless he was on bridge duty at the time. Jumps were routine. Boring. He was sitting in his quarters, reading a strategy primer on Go that he'd dredged up from the Alliance's archives—after a month he <em>still<em> could not seem to beat Keith at the game—when the familiar alarm screeched.

"Oh, get over it," he snapped at the speaker mounted over his bed. "If this isn't intergalactic, I don't care."

Famous last words.

A jolt, and a deafening _crack_ rang out through the ship. _What the...?_ He jumped up and looked around, half expecting the craft to start tearing itself apart around him. No such trouble. All had gone silent, the breach alarm was off, and the lights had changed to blue. They were safely in extradimensional space, but Pidge was very certain that whatever had just happened ought not to have happened.

What had actually happened, he wasn't so clear on. But it was probably a safe bet to head for the bridge. As he sprinted down the corridors he met Lance, who was swearing up a storm, and Hunk, whose jaw was set in his best _time-to-fix-stuff_ expression.

Keith was ahead of the pack, and was giving orders before the team had even taken their positions. "Hunk, diagnostics. Pidge, Lance, stand by. Sven, what happened?"

Sven had been on bridge duty during the jump; he'd already pulled up several charts and was rapidly scanning through them. "No idea. We obviously hit something, but I don't see _how_." He looked at their commander and shook his head helplessly. "We just skipped through Vasuki. It's an inhabited system, they should have been broadcasting a warning if the breach zone wasn't clear. And we didn't take near enough damage for it to have been a problem with the coordinates."

By _we didn't take near enough damage_, it was understood by everyone on the ship that he meant _we didn't crash into a star and die_.

Hunk looked up from his console. "Hull failure in the rear left quadrant. Sealing systems kicked in fine, atmospheric loss minimal. One maneuvering thruster gone, two damaged but functioning. Damage to the skip drive. Not gonna call failure _imminent_, but it's on its way. How're we doing on the cooldown lap? Can we stop?"

"If we were in any shape to stop, we'd have stopped." Sven sounded mildly offended.

Keith stepped in. "Give us the cooldown status anyway, would you?"

"Five jumps to go before we enter the possible safe range, twenty-three before plausible safe range, forty-eight before definite safe range."

"Yeah." Hunk shook his head. "Not a chance we're gonna make any of those."

"All right." Keith was up and pacing about the bridge. "Pidge, check the cameras."

He'd been expecting the order and was halfway there already. Ranger-class ships had pretty decent visual coverage. "Skip length of slightly under a quarter of a second. Running frame-by-frame... ugh, it got our rear left camera, too." He sighed and ordered the computer to disregard that camera; no sense in it taking up perfectly good monitor space. All the other angles were saying pretty much the same thing. "We hit a debris field. I can't really identify any of this junk, but it's not natural."

Silence fell over the ship. An unnatural debris field at a breach point could mean many things, and _every single one of them_ was bad. Let alone Vasuki's failure to be warning of the obstruction...

"Sven. Contingencies?"

"We can reverse to the same coordinates. Whatever we hit should have been destroyed. We could probably make a full circle, but—"

"—What do you mean _probably_? Of course I can—"

"—The ship can't take that, not with a hull breach!"

Sven looked at Lance, then at Hunk, then rolled his eyes and went back to his star charts. "But it would be pretty risky with so much damage."

"Right." Keith went back to his seat and strapped in. "Lance, emergency reversal. Everyone else, brace yourselves and stay alert. I want you all to battle stations as soon as you're recovered from the re-entry."

Four very confused expressions fell on him. "Uh... Keith? It's a five-man ship. We don't _have _battle stations."

"Shut up, Lance."

"But we really don't..."

"Shut up, Sven."

Pidge exchanged shrugs with Hunk and decided to keep his mouth shut.

He'd never been through a reversal before, though the theory was simple enough. It was entirely possible to use the ship's regular thrusters in extradimensional space to reverse course—or even to make a full circle and come out the next planned jump point—and forcibly counteract most of the temporal inertia that a normal course bled off gradually. It took an excellent pilot, but it could certainly be done. It just had a nasty habit of shredding the engines and the skip drive beyond repair.

But on the bright side, the crew would stay alive to call for help.

One oddity of extradimensional space was that no matter how the ship was moving, it never _felt_ like it was moving. Ever. Lance was quietly narrating a tight U-turn, to the extent that any maneuver at forty thousand light years per hour could be called 'tight', but as best Pidge could tell they were at a standstill. He was almost startled when their pilot's voice rang out at its normal volume.

"Coordinates locked. Thirty seconds out. Get to your nonexistent battle stations and brace for re-entry!"

The initial jolt was surprisingly tame. Not much more than a normal skip, really. But the ship kept shuddering violently for nearly half a minute. A spectacular metallic grinding sound rumbled over them; Pidge had never heard a noise quite like that before, but identified it immediately as the skip drive ripping itself apart in the engine compartment under their feet.

"Oh, man. That poor baby's nothing but heavy metal dust," Hunk murmured sadly as the noise and tremors faded. "What a waste."

"Sitrep," Keith ordered.

That was Pidge's job, and he went back to the monitors. The whole situation was giving him a creepy feeling. He _had_ to report, but didn't want to report, didn't want to see the reality of what they'd run into. "Debris field covering the lower part of the breach zone. It's messing with the sensors. I've got contacts... hey Sven, which is the inhabited planet in this system?"

Sven hesitated briefly, typing, searching. "Two. Local name is Sennec."

A little observation and a lot of extrapolation told Pidge that the contacts he was picking up were, indeed, in the direction of Vasuki II. "Contacts near Sennec. Scanning. Hard to get much at this distance, but..." His guts twisted as the scans came back with the results he'd known, in the back of his mind, all along. "Ninety-three percent chance of Drule origin."

Silence on the bridge. Finally, Keith nodded. "They'll surely notice us before too much longer."

"I think they already have." Something else was shifting in the breach zone, and he was picking up sporadic readings through the debris. "Sennec isn't an Alliance world, is it?"

Another pause as Sven looked that up. "No. There've been negotiations, though. Why?"

"I think we've got an ambush in the breach zone."

At right about that moment, lights on Keith's console started flashing. "Incoming hail," the commander muttered. "Everyone remain silent. Got that? _Silent_. I'm opening the comms."

A crackle of static, and a deep, cold voice sounded over the ship's speakers. "Inbound ship, I am Commander Cossack of the Supremacy dreadnought _Ebon Flame_. We detect you as the Ranger-class shuttle _Eclipse_. Your commander will respond to this hail."

The group exchanged glances, but stayed quiet, as ordered. Keith took a shallow breath and nodded. "This is Keith Kogane, captain of the _Eclipse_." Captain. Not commander. So he was determined to keep playing the non-military angle... considering what they'd just jumped into, that was probably a good idea.

"Captain Kogane, your craft has entered a restricted area. The Vasuki system is newly under the Ninth Kingdom's command, and is no place for you to be visiting."

"With all due respect, Commander Cossack, Alliance interstellar travel has been addressed in seven separate treaties. Skipping through Drule territory has been permitted since the end of the Rift War. Vasuki was not our destination; the debris in the breach zone disabled our ship. We can call for assistance and be out of your way in a matter of hours."

That was greeted with such a long silence Pidge wondered if it might have worked, but he would've felt much more optimistic if the contact weren't still closing in on them. It was a very large contact, and his scans were starting to become more detailed. The _Ebon Flame_ itself was coming for them.

Finally, the other ship responded. "You have my apologies, Captain Kogane. Skipping through is indeed tolerated, but you have surpassed that. We do not make exceptions for the limitations of inferior technology. You, your crew, and your ship are hereby claimed by the Drule Supremacy. I advise you to stand down quietly. Your mind seems sharp for a human, and it would be a waste to kill you on the spot."

Lance's fists were clenched so tightly his hands had gone bone-white. Keith walked up and rested his own hands on the pilot's shoulders, whispered something in his ear. Whatever it was did not make Lance happy, but he seemed to relax. Slightly.

The commander sighed and looked over his team, then walked back and turned the comms off. "Okay." His voice was calm, but Pidge could _feel_ the tension in it, each word cutting through the air like a physical blade. "Listen up, all of you. I don't want any outbursts when I open the link again. Make no mistake, he will happily shoot us down. As long as we're alive, we have some hope... I refuse to get us all killed here and now, just for the sake of pride."

Sven cocked his head. "I don't think anyone's questioning what has to be done, Keith."

Pidge nodded his agreement and saw Hunk doing the same. "We're ready, chief."

Even Lance finally managed a grunt of assent. "Get it over with."

Nodding, Keith returned to the console, re-opened the link. "Very well, Commander Cossack. We surrender."


	7. No Plan Survives Contact

**Arusian Crusade: Deployment**  
>Chapter 6: No Plan Survives Contact...<p>

* * *

><p>It was nighttime on the part of the world the <em>Ebon Flame<em> delivered them to, but only the darkness outside gave any sign of it. The world was crowded. Busy. The amount of activity even at night spoke of the importance of this place... well, that and the fact that slaves had been brought here at all.

A group of glowing-eyed, shadow-armored guards led them through a vast fortress of black stone, deathly silent except for their leader. "On Commander Cossack's orders," the lead guard declared as he herded them inside, "you are exempted from manual labor. It seems you have impressed him most highly, and your arena schedule will reflect this. Prepare yourselves for battle, slaves. Your chance to prove yourselves will come soon." He locked the door and was gone.

Everyone looked at Keith; Keith looked at the door. "I was afraid of that. Not really that big a surprise, though..."

"What was he ranting about?" Lance was still rubbing his wrists, a disgusted expression on his face, though the chains they'd been bound in while aboard the dreadnought were long gone. "And where are we, anyway? I didn't see a welcome mat."

"I expect we're on Korrinoth, the capital of the Ninth Kingdom. Most non-Drules just call it planet Doom, though that's a _very_ rough translation of the name." Keith sat back on a slab of rock. Hunk couldn't tell if the stone's presence was a sign of poor upkeep, or an attempt at furnishing the cell. "As for the rest of it, having slaves fight against robeasts in gladiatorial arenas is a major component of Drule entertainment culture. Sounds like our captors think we'll put on a good show, so they aren't going to risk us breaking bones hauling rocks around."

"Uh, excuse me." Pidge was giving Keith a strange look. "Slaves fighting robeasts? Aren't robeasts kind of two hundred feet tall and made out of metal?"

Their commander shook his head. "No. Robeasts, by definition, are just cyborg creatures empowered by occult science—that's what Drules call their branch of technomysticism—and trained for combat. The giant robeasts you're thinking of represent the best of the best in the Drule arsenal, further enhanced after proving themselves against their peers. They're a relatively rare and resource-intensive weapon to deploy." It was painfully obvious to Hunk that Keith was leaving something out, but he chose not to ask. Not just yet. There was plenty about this setup he probably didn't want to know.

What he did know was troubling enough. Troubling, and yet... "So basically, they want us to go out there and smash up a magical robot? That doesn't sound so bad."

"Technically, they want the magical robot to smash _us_," Sven corrected, "unless—" Keith moved over and slapped him on the arm, drawing several confused looks. Something unspoken passed between the commander and his second, then Sven nodded and retreated, leaning back against the cell wall. "They expect us to make a fight of it, anyway."

"Oh, we'll make a fight of it," Lance growled. He'd been blazing since they entered Drule custody, blazing with a ferocity that Hunk was amazed hadn't set their entire cell aflame. "They want to throw us in a death pit? We'll give 'em death."

"We will," Keith agreed, and lowered his voice, motioning for the team to come closer. "Right now they have no idea that we're _military_ prisoners, and we need to keep it that way. A few humans who can put up a fight are something totally different than trained soldiers. Remember that. We're still tourists, nothing more." A round of nods answered him. "Right now I want all of you to get some rest. If they're rushing us into the arena, it could be as early as tomorrow, and we need to be ready."

Rest. Rest? They were locked in a dungeon, in an alien fortress on a world called Doom, facing the prospect of mortal combat with a technomystical war cyborg. Rest. Sure.

Hunk staked out a corner of the cell and watched his teammates for a long time, waiting for each of them to drift off. Waiting to fall asleep himself, but it wasn't coming. He was realizing they'd never done much in the way of cooperative hand to hand drills. Plenty of sparring against each other, plenty of backing each other up on the sims. Very little in between. Hadn't seemed important before.

Seemed like quite a significant oversight _now_.

Unarmed combat was not one of Hunk's strengths. On general principles he considered himself a builder, not a fighter, and while he'd had plenty of experience wrestling his brothers growing up, he had lost most of those contests and never picked up much in the way of technique. Wrestling probably wasn't the preferred manner of fighting a robeast, anyway. Sheer size and strength had gotten him far in basic training, but there would be nothing basic about this.

His thoughts were interrupted by someone touching his shoulder. "Relax, big guy. It'll be okay."

Hunk jumped a little, turned to see green eyes piercing him with concern. "Pidge? Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Because you're not sleeping." Pidge raised an eyebrow, crossed his arms, and sat back against another chunk of rock. "Do you think I can't tell by now when you're upset? I'm not sleeping until you're feeling better."

"This is not the deal, little buddy. You're not supposed to worry about me. I'm supposed to worry about you."

"Too bad I never agreed to that deal."

True enough. Actually, Pidge usually stopped somewhere just short of resenting being worried about, which was part of why Hunk cared for him so much. The kid would never admit out loud that he needed someone, and his stubborn independence was endearing.

But he supposed he could turn that right back on himself. Especially the part about being stubborn. No, Hunk would never admit that he might need someone to worry about _him_. And yet right now... he probably did. He was not used to feeling vulnerable.

He looked at Pidge. The kid was a third his size and had three times his hand to hand combat instincts, and probably already knew everything he was thinking. But he would say it anyway. "I just don't think I'm gonna be much good out there."

"I'll be pretty shocked if you _aren't_ any good out there," his young friend countered. "We don't all have to be technique freaks like Keith. Just hang back and watch and when you see your chance, punch the angry evil robot a few times." A wicked grin. "I mean let's face it, smashing up misbehaving piles of scrap metal is absolutely your thing."

"Well, yeah. With tools."

Shrug. "Improvise. You hit like a hammer even when you don't have one."

"I'll use _you_ as a hammer," Hunk suggested grumpily.

A pause, but only a brief one, as the little pilot tried to decide what to make of that. "Tell you what. If you can catch me, I'll cooperate." Frown. "But isn't there a human thing about not hitting somebody with glasses? Does that not apply to not hitting somebody with somebody with glasses?"

Hunk burst into laughter. For a moment, the dungeons of Doom didn't even matter. There was no help for him when Pidge got off on one of his analytical kicks. They both knew it... and they both knew it had been no accident.

"Thanks, little buddy." He seized his friend in a fierce hug.

"Oof! Hunk, I need oxygen!" Pidge protested, but was returning the embrace just the same.

Maybe, so long as they were in this together, they would be okay after all.

* * *

><p>Pidge had no idea what time it was when they woke. Morning, no doubt, but beyond that? Forget it. Sunlight was pouring in the cell window, and it struck him as a little odd. A planet named Doom should be gray and overcast and... well... doomy.<p>

As if reading his thoughts, Sven came up next to him and stared out at the brightness. "I wonder if that's an omen. This planet mostly got its name because it only sees a few days of sunshine a year."

An omen. Pidge didn't believe in omens, but decided not to question it; whatever made his teammates feel better was just fine with him. "What does Korrinoth really mean? Keith said that Doom was a rough translation."

Shrug. "No idea."

"No? I figured you were an expert on these guys."

Sven cocked his head. "What makes you think that?"

"Keith smacking you last night when you were trying to tell us something important."

"Ah." The navigator laughed softly. "No. Everything I know about Drule culture, I learned from helping to quiz Keith on his own notes." A brief pause. "...And what I was saying wasn't important, that's why he shut me up."

"You are a terrible liar." Sven looked stricken; Pidge waved it off. "I'm happy to trust you two on what we need to know right now. Just tell me what to hit and get out of my way. But when we live through this, I want to hear it."

"That's probably fair."

_Probably_. Pidge didn't care much for that word, but knew it was the best he would get for now, so he looked over the rest of the team. Hunk was just now stirring. Only fair, given how long he'd stayed up. Lance and Keith were taking a few practice swings at each other, but stopped when they realized they were being watched.

Being watched by their squadmates? No. Being watched by a pair of glowing eyes outside their cell.

Much like the Tenra and Sryka on Balto had split from a common ancestor thousands of years ago, the ancient race known as the Drules had diverged into many separate forms over their empire's long history. As a general rule, each kingdom had its own subrace, though that was not the full extent of their racial divides. It was just a good start. The Ninth Kingdom was reclusive, and so the race simply known to Alliance analysts as Drule-9 rarely turned up in the public eye back on Earth.

The net result of all this was that while Pidge had a solid image in his mind of what a Drule was, those who populated Doom took him by some surprise, and he took this first opportunity to study one of them in the light.

He was tall, slightly taller than the average human, with the wide, pointed ears that were one of the few commonalities between all the Drule races. His skin was a dark slate color—Drule-9s seems to range between blue and gray on that count—and his eyes were yellow, with slitted pupils that reminded Pidge of a cat. The eyes carried a faint glow; there was speculation that the original Drule race may have been nocturnal. Small fangs were just barely visible, glinting in the sun.

For several moments their guard studied his charges with as much fascination as Pidge was studying him. This _was_ the Denubian. Perhaps it made sense that they were a curiosity to their captors.

Finally, they all stopped sizing each other up and the Drule spoke.

"The arena awaits you, slaves. It is in your interest as well as ours that you acquit yourselves well in combat, and so it is my duty to ensure that you are fully prepared. If it is your custom to eat before battle, you will be provided a meal at this time. Do you wish this?"

_A meal? _Pidge realized he hadn't even thought about food since the _Ebon Flame_ had captured them, and it certainly didn't sound too appetizing now. He didn't need to eat all that much to keep going, in any case, and his guts were already churning as nervousness began to set in.

Keith swept his gaze over his team. "Anyone hungry?"

Three of them answered no. One remained silent.

"Hunk?"

"Starving," the big man grumbled, "but I'm afraid to try to stomach whatever they're offering us, so let's just get out there and I'll take it out on the robeast."

"Works for me." With a shrug, their commander returned his attention to the guard. "No. We're ready to fight."

"So be it." The guard opened the cell door and beckoned for them to follow, leading them through a fearsome labyrinth of dark stone corridors. Pidge committed every step to memory, just as he had when they'd first been brought in and led to their cell. Force of habit. Knowing every twist and turn was a critical skill on the streets—and not all that much less important in the sprawling maze that was Galaxy Garrison.

After walking for several minutes they stopped at a heavy door, and the guard fixed them with a look of golden-eyed disdain. "This is the gladiatorial armory. In the infinite mercy of the Drule Supremacy, we do not require you to fight empty-handed. Choose what suits you best; if you are successful in the arena your lives may prove to have worth after all. You have ten minutes."

Pidge's jaw dropped as the door opened, revealing a room nearly as large as the Assembly Hall at the academy, filled with thousands of racks of weaponry. "Are you for real?" he muttered. There were weapons of nearly every conceivable size and shape; he recognized designs from four different planets just on his first brief glance.

For a moment, he wondered at how nonchalant the guard seemed about letting a bunch of slaves loose in such a place. Then he noticed shadows lurking behind them in the hallway. There had to be a dozen more soldiers, rifles trained on the prisoners. _Aha_. The armory was thorough, but it certainly didn't contain anything as high-tech as lasers or firearms.

The others had noticed their heavily armed escorts as well, though it looked like Lance might be willing to take the chance. "Take it easy," Pidge whispered as he headed for what looked like a large collection of throwing knives. He could hold his own hand to hand, of course, but with the rest of the team present he suspected he'd be better off in a supporting role.

"This is insane," Lance hissed, though he did look like he'd ruled out grabbing a blade and going for the guards right here and now. "They'd go to this much expense just to get a better show in their death pits?"

"I doubt there's much expense here." Keith's voice was quiet. Cold. "Notice how there's nothing of Drule design in this room? These weapons are the spoils of war... they consider us animals, and we're only fit to fight with what they've seized from other animals."

Ten minutes passed quickly. Pidge stashed a dozen throwing knives and a thin dagger, while Hunk had picked up a massive, rather frightening-looking hammer. Seeing his friend with the enormous weapon made the small engineer very happy indeed—it looked like all the worry of the night before had vanished as Hunk gave the hammer a few test swings. "Looks good, big guy!"

"Good? Just good? This is gonna be _awesome_."

Yeah, he was over it.

Keith was holding two spiky shortswords that were of some alien origin, though Pidge couldn't place them precisely, while Sven had tracked down a long, curving sword of the type that humans called a katana. At first it looked like Lance hadn't found a weapon, but on closer examination the pilot was wearing a pair of spiked metal gauntlets.

"Seven-fingered," he shrugged when he noticed his companion's gaze, "but it'll do, right?"

"Here's hoping."

The guard who'd served as their guide was giving Keith a peculiar look, as his gun-wielding comrades fell into step behind the five. "Prepare yourselves," one of the goons leered, "speak your sorrows to whatever gods deign to listen to the last gasps of insects!"

"Silence," the first guard snapped, motioning for the captives to follow. They moved wordlessly down the corridor, ending at a huge, barred door that could only lead to the arena. Their guide was looking at Keith again. "You face the robeast known as Faldaren. His flesh is steel, his eyes are flame, and ninety-eight slaves have been flayed at his hand. Die well, damned ones!"

"Thanks for the encouragement," Lance muttered as the heavy iron gate began to creak open.

* * *

><p>"Earthlings in the Denubian. Foolish of them, really. We should disabuse the Alliance of the notion that their <em>tourists<em> are safe in our realm."

King Zarkon, lord of Korrinoth and ruler of the Ninth Kingdom, watched the five humans walk into the arena and raised an eyebrow. One of them was a _child, _or at least appeared to be. Sending children to die in the arena was not his preference. It accomplished so little. Yet all five of them carried an unmistakable aura about them... they were dangerous. And that was good.

Commander Cossack was standing off to his left—a rising star in the Ninth Kingdom's ranks, already known in whispers as Cossack the Terrible. He was responsible for this round of combat, and so had been invited to stand at his lord's side. "Fools, maybe, but I see no fear in them."

"That is true," Zarkon agreed. He noted how easily each combatant held their weapon, how they tensed but did not freeze as the opposite gate began to rise. "It does appear their courage may be born of more than ignorance."

"Hmph. Earthlings are scum and they'll die as scum. All they're good at is puffing up and looking better than they are." That came from the warrior at his right, Admiral Yurak, whose single golden eye was narrowed in disgust. The crimson ocular implant that filled his other eye socket was a tangible reminder of his sacrifices in the name of his kingdom, and had won him the right to speak his mind. "I'll believe they have potential if the monster so much as takes a scratch."

"Of course. It _is_ results that matter." Cossack frowned, his own eyes glowing softly. "But I submitted these candidates, and I'll back them. Care for a wager, Admiral?"

A derisive snort. "Gladly. Name your price."

"Loser buys a round of Tyrusian mead for the winner's crew."

"Deal."

Their king quietly ignored the banter, though in his younger days he would have joined the bet. He was no longer free for such trivial things. Personally, Zarkon hoped the Earthlings would be every bit as formidable as they seemed. They would make fine warriors, and finer political pawns. But first they would prove themselves.

Out of respect for the final member of his viewing party, he did not express his hopes. The shrouded figure standing beside Yurak was an enigma even to him: Haggar, sorceress and occult scientist, advisor to the Ninth Kingdom's rulers for four generations. She was a Daughter of the Wyvern, one of the most formidable witchcraft covens—and more importantly, said to be a direct descendent of Sarga the Unfathomable herself. Zarkon didn't know if that rumor was true, and didn't care. What mattered was that Haggar was immensely powerful, fiercely loyal, and looked upon the robeasts she forged with a master craftsman's pride.

The gate had fully risen, and the beast known as Faldaren stepped into the arena. Cheers filled the stadium, but the robeast ignored them. Monstrous though they were, robeasts _were_ warriors of the Drule Supremacy, and showed the discipline such a position required. Faldaren studied its opponents briefly, then looked to its king and roared. A roar of deference, a promise to its lord that it would kill and die solely in his name.

Zarkon nodded his acknowledgment of the gesture. If these humans were successful, then the mighty construct saluting him would fall. But such was the way of the Supremacy. The strongest would survive.

He raised the taloned scepter in his hand. "Let it begin!"

* * *

><p>Faldaren reminded Lance of an armadillo. A rather angry, bipedal armadillo whose eyeballs were literally on fire, but an armadillo nonetheless. It had a thin mesh of silvery fur, stubby arms with huge claws, a shell of overlapping armor plates, and extremely bad breath.<p>

The armor and the claws he could deal with, but the breath, that was killer. And on fire.

"I don't remember our cheerful guide saying this thing could _breathe_ fire," he muttered, dodging yet another spray of flame and watching his teammates scramble for position. The damned thing was _fast_. It didn't look like it ought to be, but every time Lance tried to get around its back, he ran into a snarling, blazing wall.

The early stages of the fight were not as eventful as a fire-breathing armadillo seemed to call for. Faldaren was clever, clearly used to fighting multiple opponents—it retreated, giving ground but keeping all its enemies in front of it, forcing their positioning with its flames. Good tactics. But _defensive_ tactics.

"Something isn't adding up," he whispered to Keith as a volley of flame forced them together. "This thing's a cyborg combat powerhouse and we're a bunch of squishy pink upstarts. Why's it keep backing off?"

Keith's eyes were narrowed, focused fully on the robeast; he didn't even look at Lance as he answered. "I expect it's trying to reach the wall. We let it get there, our best attack angles are permanently gone." He paused a moment. "It's getting close, and if it has any more tricks it isn't showing them. No more time to waste. I want you and Pidge to do a pincer move. Cut it off."

"On it."

Pidge was already about as far out as the robeast permitted them to get before spitting fire, and had apparently been waiting for the order. He barely waited for Lance to finish relaying it before he was off and running.

The kid was fast, too. Lance prided himself on his speed, and here he was being put to shame by a hulking brute of a robeast and an alien midget. He poured on the jets, realizing at the last second that he'd been deemed a greater threat than Pidge—probably reasonable—and was now sprinting straight into a disaster. Fire erupted from the beast's mouth, and there was no way he could reverse course in time to dodge it...

Throwing himself into a somersault, he felt the scorching heat wash over him, laughing rather than screaming as he heard his foe's snarl of disbelief. Slaves bolting straight _into_ the fire was probably a new one. Leaving a trail of ash and dirt behind him, he pulled out of the roll to find himself singed and moving painfully, but thoroughly extinguished.

Faldaren's fiery eyes and iron snout loomed over him, dead still for a moment as it tried to figure out what its opponent had just done.

"Basic fire safety! Stop, drop, and roll!" he explained helpfully as he slammed his gauntleted fists down on the very confused robeast's head.

Reeling back and roaring in fury, the robeast's unarmored chest was left exposed. Just for a moment. Lance noticed a flicker of something dark in the corner of his eye, but his combat focus prevented him from recognizing exactly what it was.

Somewhere behind him, Keith saw things much more clearly. "Sven, _don't_—"

Too late, though Lance wondered if the other warrior would have obeyed the warning anyway. In an instant he'd closed the gap, taking the apparent opening, driving his blade in with a piercing strike rather than the graceful slashing it was designed for.

A roar of triumph. It had not been an opening.

Yet there was a funny thing about Sven's combat style. He was extremely susceptible to feints, but when he was intent on delivering a crippling blow, all sense of self-preservation vanished. The strike _would_ land, counterstrikes be damned. He might fall for the feint, but he would punish it as well.

Even as Sven went tumbling to the ground with a cry of pain, his sword was still buried almost to the hilt in Faldaren's stomach.

Hunk moved in with a fearsome war cry, bringing his hammer crashing down on the monster's head before it could press its advantage against their fallen comrade. Keith came in from the other side, blades flashing, and while Lance wanted to join them, something was tugging at the edges of his mind. Something about stab wounds...

Something about not removing the weapon? _Of course._

He ducked around Hunk and seized the embedded blade,twisting it roughly, then yanking it out in a spray of blood and what he was certain were electrical sparks. Truly reeling now, the robeast doubled over, breathing streams of flame at... itself?

"What the _hell?"_

"You know... that's actually kind of impressive." Keith flipped back to avoid the flames and landed just in front of him, crouching, studying the robeast with narrowed eyes. "It's trying to cauterize the wound."

"Oh." _Impressive_ wasn't the word Lance would've used. _Creepy_ was a much better word. Sure, maybe it was a good idea, maybe it showed excellent presence of mind, but the damned thing was still breathing fire on itself. Creepy.

In the end, it didn't matter, because Faldaren was missing something too. Something Lance himself had nearly forgotten as his focus narrowed. The team's smallest combatant was still circling around the beast, and as it furiously sought to close the gushing wound in its guts, Pidge had reached its back and made his move.

When the monster finally tried to straighten, it couldn't. As it whirled to see what was going on, Lance could see two lines of throwing knives sticking out of its skin; they'd been driven into the gaps between the overlapping armor seams. Twisting and snarling, Faldaren flailed for the knives in its back, but its claws couldn't reach that far and it was leaving its front open again, for real this time. Pidge made it pay, launching his last two knives squarely into the hateful thing's burning eyes.

"Kid's got style," a ragged voice observed at Lance's side. Sven's accent was harsher than usual, and his right arm was hanging uselessly at a miserable-looking angle. But he was standing, and that was something.

"Let's hammer this one home," Hunk growled, charging in and slamming his mace down on Pidge's knives. For the first time, the robeast gave a shriek that seemed to be more pain than anger.

Lance wondered at that for a moment. _Do robeasts really feel pain?_ His eyes narrowed as he forced that question aside. _Doesn't matter. They're monsters, and can die like monsters_._ Just like their masters will._

"Again, Hunk. With me." Keith darted in, vaulted into the air, and plunged one of his swords squarely into the blinded robeast's forehead. Hunk followed the blow with his hammer, striking the sword hilt so hard it shattered. Still, the monster did not fall. "Oh for crying out... what does it take to _kill_ this thing?"

He got his answer, much quicker than any of them had expected. Faldaren turned its sightless eyes on its tormentors and gave a final howl. Its entire face was erupting in fire now, and there were gouts of flame shooting out the seams in its armor.

_Quite a show. Not going to save you, but quite a show_.

"Back!" Keith yelled as the flames intensified.

Back, indeed. Lance didn't want to get back. Sure, the robeast was on fire, but he'd ducked fire once already this fight, hadn't he? He wanted to go forward, to land one more blow for good measure. He even started moving to that effect, but someone grabbed him from behind and pushed him roughly to the ground. Seconds later, the arena shook, and a wall of searing air lifted him and threw him into the nearest wall as the fallen robeast sought to take its enemies down with it.

Everything went dark. Just for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, Pidge was kneeling in front of him, and Keith's hands were on his shoulders. "Lance? You okay?"

"Robeast's dead?"

"Robeast's very dead."

"Then I'm fine." He grimaced, looked around, and caught sight of a smoking wreck that seemed like it had to be Faldaren's corpse. Wasn't much of a corpse. The explosion had taken care of most of it. "Matter of fact I'm _great_." He removed his gauntlets and threw them at the wreckage. Not that the gesture could truly capture his contempt, but it was a good start. "One down, and about a million more to go."

* * *

><p>On the royal balcony, it took Zarkon several very, very long seconds to grasp what he'd just witnessed. Not the defeat of the robeast—no, that had been impressive, but not such a great shock. Instead he focused his gaze on the ash-covered human who'd just thrown his weapons at the fallen monster's remains.<p>

Such an insult could not be tolerated. Yet such spirit and ferocity would be so useful... so very, very useful. He bared his fangs in a slight smile, already anticipating the next victory. The victory that would deliver these slaves fully into his arsenal.

Off to his left Cossack was staring at the battlefield, golden eyes wide. "I thought they seemed formidable," the commander murmured, "but I must admit I did not expect _that_." As the guards herded the victorious slaves from the arena, Cossack's bravado seemed to return, and he turned to Yurak with a smirk. "Admiral, when shall I bring the _Ebon Flame_'s crew to ground?"

Yurak chuckled. "Call them down now if you'd like, Commander. That battle was so glorious it was worth losing a bet." He saluted the now-empty arena floor with his sword. "You'll have to find someone else to sucker into buying your drinks during their next round, though. I may place some coin on the humans myself."

Nodding, Cossack turned to his lord. "By your leave, Highness."

"Go and enjoy yourselves," Zarkon agreed easily. "Drink to glory, and to those five who will soon be new weapons in our hands." When his two warriors had departed, he turned his attention to the hooded figure which had remained utterly motionless throughout the battle. "What do you think, Haggar?"

The witch moved forward. "The humans have great potential. Faldaren was one of the most cunning warriors I ever worked on." Only her glowing eyes were visible under her hood, shining a gold far more vivid than any ordinary Drule's. "But something about them troubles me... a whisper of destiny that transcends space and time." She met his gaze. "Place them in the arena again swiftly, sire. The longer their will is free, the greater their threat becomes."

Zarkon contemplated the suggestion, mildly annoyed. He had little patience with his advisor's warnings about destiny—such an intangible, impractical concern. Basing his decisions on something so ephemeral as destiny was no way to run a kingdom. On the other hand, there was no particular reason _not_ to rush the humans into their next battle.

"Very well. They will fight again in two days." After a moment's consideration he added, "I charge you with personally selecting their opponent."

Haggar bowed silently and departed.

* * *

><p>The guard seemed a little more respectful when he led them back to their cell. Maybe it was Pidge's imagination. Or maybe it was because they'd just pretty much eviscerated Faldaren, flayer of ninety-eight slaves, flame-eyed and steel-skinned and whatever else it had allegedly had going for it.<p>

What startled him was how _happy_ he was to be locked up again in their nice, quiet cell. When he tried to sit down his body protested, adrenaline still pounding through his veins, and he nearly fell off the rock he'd chosen. Maybe he was a little more shaken up than he'd thought.

"Easy," Lance cautioned, grabbing his arm to steady him. The pilot's hair and clothes were a little ragged from where he'd gone diving through the wall of flame, but he actually seemed to be in a pretty good mood. "No sense getting yourself hurt _now_."

"Yeah." Pidge blinked, shook it off. "No kidding. That was... that was insane."

"We did well." Keith didn't sound as happy as the words seemed to call for, though they were at least sincere. Then, after a brief hesitation, his eyes fell on their navigator. "Though some of us probably need to work on our situational awareness."

Sven sighed. "I got a dislocated shoulder, the robeast got impaled. Call me crazy but that seems like a pretty fair trade."

"You're crazy. And very, _very_ lucky. If that thing hadn't been so focused on Lance, you would be dead right now."

Hunk had looked up with some interest when Sven assessed his injury. "Oh, dislocated? Is that all it is?"

"Yeah."

"Should've said so earlier! C'mere, you nut. And I'm with Keith, I can't believe you actually fell for that. Even _I_ could tell that opening was a fake." Rather than actually waiting for Sven to come to him as ordered, Hunk moved over and grabbed his arm. "Stay still, and when you scream try not to do it in my ear."

Pidge opted not to watch; blood did not bother him, but bones sticking out at weird angles never failed to turn his stomach. He heard a faint _pop_ and a hiss of pain that at least was not a scream, and dared to open one eye to check things out. Hunk was checking to be sure Sven's now clearly relocated shoulder was actually fully in place, as his patient eyed him nervously.

"You're all good."

"Thanks, I think."

"Don't mention it."

A screech sounded from outside their window. An enormous vulture had landed just outside and was peering down at them, holding what looked like a ribcage in its beak. Pidge looked up and scowled at it. "Oh, shut up. We don't like this any more than you do."

"Reeeawwk!"

"He said stuff it, featherbrain!" Lance picked up a small rock and flung it as hard as he could at the window, clanging off the bars. The vulture gave an indignant squawk and took wing, but rather than departing, just hovered and gazed scornfully at the team.

"Stop harassing the local wildlife, you guys." Hunk sat back on a chunk of stone. "It's not _his_ fault."

Keith looked up at the vulture. "Right. It's not his fault, and we've got bigger problems. We're running out of time."

"What do you mean? We completely wrecked that thing. Barely even got scratched. I mean, _most_ of us barely got scratched, other than Mr. Falls-For-First-Year-Feints over there, but I'm sure he'll be more careful next time." Lance shrugged out of one jacket sleeve and held up his arm, displaying some of the burns he'd received from the beast. "If this is the worst the Drules can do to us—"

"—It's not." Sven had ignored the bait and sounded calm as usual, but his eyes were narrowed with concern as he retreated to another stone slab. "We will fight again."

"So we'll beat up another one," Hunk shrugged.

"That's the problem." Keith returned his gaze to his team. "Winning once is a fluke, but winning twice would mean we might—just might—be better than animals. We would be rewarded accordingly."

Lance frowned and cocked his head. "I get the feeling it's not a reward we'd care to graciously accept with a little speech and a smile?"

"No." Sigh. "I apologize, I didn't want to tell you all this before the first fight... thought it might interfere. But you need to understand _now_. Arenas aren't just meant for entertainment, they're recruitment centers. Successful slaves are honored. And the Drules believe the highest honor they can give an inferior race is turning them into robeasts."

_What? _Pidge caught his breath. _That thing we just... killed... used to be a slave? Like us?_ "You're kidding, right?"

"They'd turn us into those things?" Hunk protested. "And lock us up to do nothing but snack on slaves all day? Ugh, what a life."

"It sounds bad," Keith agreed, "but you'll have it and you'll like it if you impress them too much."

Truthfully, the thought of being forced to _enjoy_ such an existence was even scarier than just being forced into it. Pidge found himself wishing he'd taken a few more classes on Drule culture himself, rather than retaking a dozen workshops just to see what was new. The fact that everyone else seemed just as shocked as he was did make him feel a little better... everyone but Sven, anyway.

_Oh... I bet this is what he was starting to tell us last night._

Their navigator was staring pointedly at the floor. "We should consider the possibility that it's best to lose the next fight."

Lance immediately shot him a furious look. "I _know_ you didn't just say that."

Sven looked up, the piercing ice in his eyes countering Lance's flames. "Would you like me to say it again?"

"How about you don't."

"Good." Their navigator looked away, and his voice sent chills through Pidge as he added, "I do not like repeating myself."

"We're in enough trouble without you two getting started," Keith snapped.

"Then what do you propose we do?" Lance shot back. "Seems like you know everything else, how about telling us something useful?"

Suddenly Sven was on his feet. "Lance, if you don't—"

_"Enough!"_ Keith's roar shocked them all into silence. Waiting for a moment to be sure there would be no more outbursts, their commander finally nodded, quiet and focused again. "It's very simple. If we win our next fight we betray the Alliance. Completely unacceptable. If we lose the fight, we fail our mission. Which is better than betrayal, but still unacceptable." He swept his gaze over the team. "Third alternative. We get out of here before they make us fight again."

_Get out of here_... "You mean escape," Pidge clarified, not sure he'd just heard what he thought he'd heard.

"Escape?" Hunk repeated. "From a Drule _capital?"_

Even Lance's bravado was shaken at the suggestion, though there was still some fire in his voice. "That's not even possible."

"We're going to make it possible." Keith's eyes were still fixed on them fiercely, and Pidge could feel himself almost drowning in that gaze. Every word was sharp, confident. No doubt. No fear. No more questions. Even if their commander had to drag them all out of this fortress on sheer strength of will, they _would_ make this possible. "You have five minutes to get your heads on straight and start coming up with suggestions. Get to it."


	8. Illusion of Victory

**Arusian Crusade: Deployment**  
>Chapter 7: Illusion of Victory<p>

_So I'm blanking out on creative ways to say 'thanks for the reviews', but thanks for the reviews nonetheless. Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>They gathered in the sunlight admitted by the cell window, which also happened to be plenty far from the door and any prying eyes or ears. Nothing suspicious here; just a few slaves trying to wring all the warmth they could from their surroundings. Keith gave each of the pilots under his command a long stare, warning them to keep their tempers in check this time, then nodded. "Alright. Let's hear it."<p>

"Well, they've been kind enough to provide us with a super well-stocked armory," Lance pointed out. "We just have to deal with a lot of guys with guns."

"Minor detail," Hunk agreed.

Pidge considered the matter. Sure, there were a lot of guards with guns, but there was also a weak point. "How about the leader? Can we use him as a hostage?"

"No." Keith shook his head. "The other guards won't hesitate to shoot through him. Drules don't tend to be too sentimental about things like that. If they fail to keep us in line they'll all be executed, best to just let the one who messed up and got caught die."

"Figures," Lance muttered scornfully. "Bastards."

Much as he usually tried to avoid moral judgments on other races, Pidge had to agree with that assessment. "Not very admirable... but letting them shoot their own ally might not hurt, either."

"Maybe not, but they're using... wait." Keith's expression became thoughtful. "They're using splash rifles. Most of them are, anyway."

"Splash rifles?"

"An advanced Drule infantry weapon. They fire a small plasma field that detonates on impact. Lots of benefits... easier to aim, takes out a whole group of rebellious slaves much quicker. But they have a significant downside. Minimum range. The field needs about five feet in open air to become volatile; get inside that range and they aren't good for much but light burns."

Sven frowned, drawing his knees to his chest. "Surely they've thought of that."

"Of course. Three of the guards had standard laser rifles. The visual differences are pretty clear, though." The commander turned his attention to Pidge. "Could you take those three out?"

Startled at being singled out, Pidge stopped to consider the question. He'd displayed his throwing accuracy against the robeast. But hitting was one thing. Killing was something else. And they would hardly have any time... three perfect throws at three different targets, all within a second or two. He picked up three bits of gravel from the floor of the cell, then located three discolored patches on the wall. _One, two, three_. Each hit dead center, for what that was worth.

Not much. It wasn't the same as knives. Wasn't like hitting a moving target.

"I think so."

"Think less. Know more."

"I can take one," Sven volunteered.

Two targets? That was a lot better than three. One for each hand. No problem. "Then I can definitely hit the other two. We'll have to coordinate it."

"Plenty of space to hide and chat in the armory," Hunk pointed out. "Talk it over there once you get a look at them."

Something dangerous was glinting in Lance's eyes now. "We'll have to move like lightning. Can't give them time to spread out once they realize what's happening. Don't stop to think once it starts. Just kill." He sounded impatient. Like he really wanted to get out there and start cracking some Drule skulls... which was undoubtedly true. This was so much more than just a matter of survival for him.

Keith looked to Lance for a moment, with an expression that was a little bit troubled. He'd probably picked up on the impatience as well. But he shrugged it off. "He's right. Once we commit to this, there's no going back. No time for second thoughts. This is it, team... maybe not what we came for, but it _is_ what we've trained for." He stared at the window, where clouds were beginning to cover the sun—maybe omens were real after all. "Our war against the Drule Supremacy begins now."

* * *

><p>Guard Captain Denalik had a bad feeling as he watched his current charges move through the armory. The five humans had defeated a robeast more easily than any batch of slaves he'd ever heard of. Oh, slaves defeated robeasts fairly regularly, more regularly than outsiders might think. He'd personally overseen seven different combatants who had succeeded and been granted the greatest gift such animals could hope for: transformation into the very beasts they'd defeated.<p>

None of them had ever felt like this.

He had an overpowering sense of _wrongness, _but he kept it to himself. It was silly, meaningless, and voicing his concerns would only make him look weak. This duty made him look weak enough as it was. Slave herding was a quiet, risk-free assignment, usually handed out as a political favor to mewling fools who didn't know one end of a rifle from the other. Denalik himself was no such bureaucratic brat; he had been relegated to the duty after a near-crippling accident in military training. It had not been his fault, yet here he was in this dead end regardless.

Bitter? Oh, he was bitter. Bitterness was an unworthy emotion, but he felt it just the same.

"Ten minutes have passed. Come, slaves. The arena awaits."

"We're ready."

He never saw them move. One moment, he was watching the slaves trail out of the armory. The next, two of his enforcers had knives sticking out of their eyes, and a third had a light axe embedded in his throat.

Denalik acted without thought, without hesitation. As the guard unit's leader he carried only a sword. Ceremonial, yes, but more than capable of removing at least one human head from its shoulders before the others could open fire. He tore the sword from its scabbard with a metallic shriek and whirled on the nearest slave.

Their eyes met.

In that instant, all the strength seemed to flee Denalik's body. He could never have admitted to the feeling that seized his chest like a vise. But acknowledged or not it was _there_, overwhelming. The human's eyes were blacker than void, harsher than starfire, locking him into a frigid hell of fear.

He took only a moment to recover, but a moment was far too long. The human seized his forearm and shattered it, stripping the sword from his grasp, then kicked him away and was already moving in the other direction. The captain hit the floor, gasping for breath, certain the kick had snapped at least one rib and punctured a lung, and yet fury was overwhelming the pain. He hadn't even been worth the human's time to finish killing.

And worst of all, he did not have the strength to make his attacker regret that oversight.

The red-clad human who seemed to be the group's leader had jumped into action before the bodies of the dead guards hit the ground, seizing one of their weapons and opening fire. Two guards fell; two others had their rifles up and returned fire with the distinctive violet flare of sorcerously-contained plasma. Denalik braced himself for the blinding flash of detonation.

There was no detonation. Blinking, perhaps briefly stunned, the human recovered swiftly and drove a sword into one guard's chest. Another of them, the one wearing brown leather still mildly scorched from their encounter with Faldaren, moved up and punched the other guard who'd fired on his leader. He was wearing combat gauntlets; the blow caved in his victim's skull easily, and then he was moving to another target, whose weapon was similarly ineffective against the slave bearing down on him.

_Splash rifles. Too close. Back up, you fools! Back up or you're dead! _He didn't have the breath to scream it; all he could do was watch and wait for the rest of his squad to figure it out. Or at least for one of the enforcers with a regular rifle to...

To...

A new wave of fear gripped him as he realized the three with standard rifles were down. More accurately, they were the three who'd fallen before they even knew a battle had begun.

It could not be an accident.

The one who'd attacked him had turned his attention to a guard on the outskirts of the battle, backing up and angling for a shot. Denalik had time to identify him—Saldor, one of the quickest-witted soldiers in the unit. Seeing the human turn on him he ducked at the last moment, and the axe which would have sliced into his throat sailed harmlessly over his head. Unfortunately, the slave had a sword as well, and had taken the moment to close in.

Saldor got off a shot, but had not quite achieved sufficient range, and then in a spray of blood he was down.

On the other side of the corridor, the largest and smallest humans had carved a similar path of destruction through the other half of the unit. The big one swung his warhammer with enough force to break the rifles of the two guards in his path; one of the weapons exploded, covering its wielder with searing plasma. That one went down with a scream, while the other staggered backwards. He nearly tripped over the little slave, who jumped onto his back and quite calmly snapped his neck, then turned to seek another victim.

Denalik's vision was starting to blur as it became harder and harder to draw breath. Through the fading light he watched the five avatars of death dispatch the last guard in his squad, wondering what could have been done differently. Doubting anything could truly have stopped these creatures.

_What... what are they?_

Guard Captain Denalik was the first of the Ninth Kingdom to see the truth, for all the good that did him.

_They are the beginning of the end_.

* * *

><p>Keith spared about five seconds to be sure all the guards were down and still. That was all the time they had. A couple of the Drules were breathing, but as long as they were disabled he didn't much care; his heart wasn't really in cold-blooded execution in any case. Besides, they couldn't afford to stop and check everyone for a pulse.<p>

"That was thoroughly enjoyable," Lance commented, studying the pile of dead and dying bodies.

"Speak for yourself." Hunk looked a little queasy; watching someone melt beneath weaponized plasma would do that. "Can we get out of here now?"

"Let's. We're not going to have much time before someone comes to see what's up." Keith turned his attention to the team's youngest warrior, and noted with some surprise that he looked undisturbed by the carnage. He wasn't sure if that should bother him, and decided he was in too much of a hurry to be bothered. "Pidge, it's all you."

A nod. "Try to keep up." And he was off.

Battle strategy had been the easy part of the escape. Finding their way out of the twisting labyrinth known as Nightstone Fortress was something else entirely. Pidge claimed he could get them back to the hangar where the _Ebon Flame_ had brought them in, and this was no time to doubt the capabilities of his squadmates, so Keith simply put his trust in the kid and followed. After two minutes and eight turns, he gave up completely on paying attention to where they were going, and just kept his eyes open for any targets.

Their arena weapons had been discarded for something a bit more practical. Lance and Hunk had retrieved splash rifles from the fallen guards, while Sven and Pidge had taken the other two standard guns. They did meet a patrol on their mad dash through the corridors, but made short work of it before the Drules even knew what had hit them.

Finally Pidge halted. "Right around the corner. Who's picking the ship? Lance?"

"Yeah, I've got this." There had been some debate on whether they would have to take a crew hostage, but Lance had assured them he could handle piloting a Drule craft. He'd also very colorfully described how he felt about their piloting systems. "Gonna snag something small and quick-looking. All set?"

Keith nodded and tightened his grip on his rifle. "Go."

Inside the hangar, dozens of pairs of shocked, glowing eyes turned on the five fugitives as they charged in the door. Immediately Keith saw their first problem; it looked like one of the ships had been loading some troops. A batch of at least twenty soldiers was milling around near an extended boarding ramp, and upon seeing armed non-Drules charge in, they sprang into action.

Fortunately, it appeared their regular weapons must be already loaded onto the ship. But they charged forward, ceremonial blades drawn, without fear.

Hunk stopped, took aim, got one shot off which vaporized a small cluster of the soldiers. He was sighting for another when Sven turned and pulled on his arm. "Don't stop, they'll have backup before long." Sure enough, more Drules were already appearing in the half-loaded ship's boarding hatch.

In truth, the team was probably well-armed enough to keep all the soldiers on the ship pinned down in that bottleneck. Keith was more concerned that the troop cruiser would activate its own weapons inside the hangar... most of the workers and soldiers wouldn't survive, but neither would the escaping slaves, and that was the important part.

Lance had shown very good discipline in not stopping, despite what he would most likely describe as a target-rich environment. He was still taking potshots at pretty much anyone who looked at them. Between his running and the fact that he wasn't really bothering to aim, he didn't seem to be _hitting_ much of anything, but the wild bursts of violet plasma were giving most in the hangar a good reason to keep their heads down. There was plenty to be said for that.

"Here!" He led them to a relatively small craft that had its boarding hatch open. Keith placed it as an Abraxas-class destroyer, one of the rarer capital ships of the Drule fleet. Known for a maddening combination of speed and armor. Not a bad choice.

Whoever was aboard their selected ship had apparently not noticed the commotion outside; the hatch remained invitingly open as the five raced up the ramp and entered. The corridor leading to the bridge was empty. The bridge itself was not. A single Drule whirled on them, raising her sidearm, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Don't move," she growled. "Who let you animals out of your cages?"

A burst of crimson light, and she crumpled to the ground with a smoking hole in her chest. "Sorry," Pidge murmured, lowering his rifle. "But animals shouldn't be caged."

Lance stepped over the corpse and took the controls. "Buckle up, kids. We're gonna be encountering some turbulence on the way out. Someone want to take the guns?" Hydraulic whining ran through the ship as he started to bring it online.

"I've got 'em." Hunk took over one of the side consoles, frowned, then stood and moved to another seat. He seemed equally displeased with the new one. "Uh, soon as I find them, anyway."

A voice crackled over the comms. "_Black Hammer_, you are not cleared for activation. Captain Kolvi, stand down at once and explain yourself!"

Apparently the flight controller wasn't aware of what was happening in the hangar. _Good to know military communication is terrible everywhere._ Keith looked at the blue-gray corpse on the bridge, took a quick glance at her rank insignia, and determined she must be the officer in question. "Just launch."

"Like you really had to tell me that." Lance pulled a lever and the ship's engines sprang into action with a shriek of venting plasma. Privately Keith hoped the soldiers who'd been chasing them had pulled back before it happened; being caught in engine flame was really no way to die. Not that there was anything to be done for it now.

The _Black Hammer_ lifted into the sky with a roar. Hunk, who'd finally tracked down the weapons, took a few shots into the hangar for good measure.

_That_ seemed to clue the flight controller in that something had gone wrong. "Captain Kolvi! Captain Kolvi, do you copy? Respond!"

"Can I answer, chief? Please? Can I?" Lance's deep brown eyes had gone wide and watery, his most thoroughly convincing puppy dog look, even as he was deftly steering the ship through flame and shrapnel. The fortress' anti-air defenses had come to life. "Pretty please?"

The commander sighed, but cut off the reflexive _no_. At this stage they were dead men walking regardless; insulting the Drules probably couldn't make things any worse. And they could use any morale boost they could get. "If it'll make you that happy, Lance, go for it."

"I love you, Keith."

"Don't push your luck."

The pilot shrugged and pushed the comm's send button instead. "I'm sorry, Captain Kolvi is not available right now, she's going on a space voyage with five _lovely_ young gentlemen that she's just been _dying_ to hook up with. She's still pretty floored. But we'll tell her you called!"

Hunk burst into laughter. Pidge was biting his lip to try to avoid doing the same, but lost it pretty quickly. "Lance, you are a horrible, horrible person. You know that, right? Horrible!"

"Thanks, Pidge. I'm glad at least _someone_ here appreciates me."

Reminding himself that despite all appearances this team was an elite force of trained warriors, Keith walked over to the navigation console and kept his voice low. "Tell me you can get us out of here before they get a pursuit ship up."

Sven gave him an affronted look. "You don't think I would have mentioned it before now if not?" He was typing, seeking out where the Drules kept their star charts. "Jumpgates are a lot faster to chart for than skip drives, honestly. Though you realize they're not going to have any trouble tracking us."

"We can worry about that when we get to Arus. If we're lucky they won't follow us to ground on an Alliance world... or at least the politics will slow them down."

"Great, so if we're lucky we start an interstellar incident. What if we're not lucky?"

Every so often, Sven could be _entirely_ too much like Lance. But it was a fair question. "We hope Alfor's ships are ready to go."

His second didn't seem to care for that plan at all, but also didn't seem to have any better ideas, and was busy with the charts he'd found regardless. "How much time do we have?" he called back to the bridge in general.

"Maybe five minutes," Pidge offered. "One of their dreadnoughts is launching now."

"We can outrun that all day, no problem," Lance countered.

Keith frowned. He had no doubt their ship—and their pilot—could make the dreadnought's pursuit very difficult, but a single lucky shot would be the end of them. And surely some faster ships would be in the air shortly as well. "Maybe so, but I don't think a command ship will be pursuing us alone. We're at enough of a disadvantage as it is, let's not give them any help. How fast can you have us out of here, Sven?"

"Thirty seconds. If you actually want us to be on our way to Arus when we jump, it'll be a little longer."

Truthfully, Keith only had the vaguest idea about how jumpgates worked. He knew a lot more about Drule culture than about the technology which powered it. But he _did_ know that jumpgates were just another method of breaching extradimensional space. And he knew that in extradimensional space, weapons couldn't function.

"We need to jump. I don't care where. Safety first, directions later."

"On it."

A shrill alarm sounded from what seemed like everywhere on the bridge at once, followed by a robotic voice. "Jumpgate deploying. Jumpgate deploying. Prepare for extradimensional breach. Jumpgate deploying."

"Never thought I'd miss the _Eclipse_'s breach sirens," Hunk grumbled, covering his ears with his hands.

"Jumpgate deployed."

There was no jolt like a skip drive created. Keith had expected that much. The _Ebon Flame_ had never made such a motion between Sennec and Doom, though it hadn't had any robot voices either—Drules apparently saw no need to spring for breach alarms in the slave quarters. The only sign they had gone through the gate was that all sense of motion stopped.

"There was definitely no one close enough to follow us through the gate." Lance stood up and leaned over the back of his seat. "So we're good for now. What's the plan?"

"We're on a short course to the middle of absolutely nowhere. Working on getting from the exit point to Arus." Sven glanced over his shoulder. "You're actually going to have to do a little work when we get out, though. Have to fly into a jumpgate. No auto-orientation like skip drives give you."

"Pfft. I love my job, so it's not work."

"I would not know _anything_ about that."

"Sorry."

"No you're not."

Keith felt the first hints of a headache. "Please, you two."

The two in question exchanged shrugs and said nothing more. Maybe he'd been overreacting a little to the banter. But after all that had happened in the last few days, who could blame him?

* * *

><p>It was General Mogor, coordinator of Korrinoth's planetary defenses, who had the great misfortune of presenting Zarkon with news of the escape. It wasn't <em>his<em> fault. He kept clinging to that knowledge as he knelt before the throne. "Highness, the humans have successfully taken the destroyer _Black Hammer_ and jumped away from Korrinoth. The _Ebon Flame_ and its fleet are in pursuit."

The king's eyes glowed with greater ferocity than Mogor had ever seen, but otherwise his lord remained outwardly calm. "You know their destination, then?"

"The jumpgate has been successfully traced, but the destination is deep space. We suspect they simply wanted to make an extradimensional breach as quickly as possible. As you know, there can be no combat within a jump." Reporting on technical matters was a fine balance. Lecturing the king on basic principles of astrophysics would probably end with his head on a pike, but failing to give sufficient information would be dereliction of duty. "Commander Cossack sees no reason that he cannot trace as many gates as necessary. They will be found."

Zarkon nodded. Whether his calm was a good sign or not was impossible to say. There had not been all that many mentally stable rulers in the Ninth Kingdom's history, and the worst of them were said to have been very calm indeed.

Oddly, it was Haggar who spoke. "I do not advise you try to take them alive." That was the standard fate of slaves who tried to escape: to be recaptured and given a very public execution to keep the others in line. "Do whatever must be done to stop them."

The king looked at his advisor for what seemed like slightly too long, then returned his attention to Mogor and nodded. "As she says. If you can bring them back alive, we'll consider that a bonus. But I will just as gladly accept their corpses or their ashes."

That would make things much easier. Mogor bowed his head, very glad to be leaving the throne room with that particular appendage still attached. "It will be done, my lord."

* * *

><p>The mood on the bridge had gone from jovial to serious very quickly as the adrenaline rush of the successful escape wore off. Part of it was the fading adrenaline, anyway. Part of it was the fact that they were sharing the ship with a corpse. It was impossible to be cheerful when a dead Drule was staring at you; Sven was pretty sure that was a scientifically proven fact.<p>

Once they were safely en route to Arus he finally lost patience. Kneeling beside the body, he turned the Drule over, and pulled her uniform cloak up over her face for good measure.

Hunk breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks for that. She was giving me the creeps."

All was quiet again for awhile. But not all that long... with what they'd just been through, someone would have to speak up eventually, and someone did.

"How's everyone doing?" Pidge asked quietly. "I'd never actually killed a person before." He sounded more curious than distressed at the concept.

Lance snorted. "They're not _people_, they're Drules."

Sven winced but decided to keep his own concerns to himself. He'd never killed before either, though he'd caused plenty of damage, probably more damage than he usually needed to. Damage that caused enough fear to end the combat. Because he had always known he did not _want_ to kill.

It had come more easily than he'd expected, perhaps because the only alternative had been their own deaths. And after all, it was the Drules who'd put themselves in such a position. _They started it?_ That rationalization belonged on a schoolyard somewhere, not a battlefield, but the truth was the truth. They'd started it and he had finished it. Finished them.

"Is it really that simple, Lance?" Pidge asked after a long silence.

"It really is."

"I can't accept that..." Pidge's eyes focused on nothing in particular. "I mean, they're evil and they were asking for it, I get that. I'm not worried about killing them, but they've still got to be _people_, don't they?"

"No." Lance flipped his hair back. He was trying a little too hard to be casual, really. Nothing to be gained by pointing that out at the moment, but Sven decided they would talk later. "They're just monsters."

"On my planet, I'm a monster," the small pilot murmured.

...Well then. _That_ shut them all up. Sven shot another look at Lance, who looked extremely uncomfortable all of a sudden, and gave his hand a quick squeeze. Pidge had a point, but it had also been a bit of a low blow. Especially right now.

Keith was the one who finally broke the awkward silence. "Drules conquer planets and enslave their victims because they don't see non-Drules as people. Dehumanizing is such a simple tool." He looked over his team. "Forget the semantics and do what has to be done. If they threaten the Alliance, we'll fight them. If they insist on war, we'll kill them. If they want peace, we'll accept them. That's the only way to deal with anyone... with actions. Words are cheap."

Hunk had been quiet, maybe coming to terms with things on his own. Now he looked up. "I don't think we'll have to fight Drules face to face much more. I'm more worried about the robeasts." He shook his head. "Can't imagine trying to fight one of _them_ knowing how they're... you know... created."

"If it makes you feel any better, they're already dead." Keith hesitated. "I mean... the Alliance doesn't know much about how robeast transformation works, but we've recaptured a few. Done some testing. Tried to bring them back. It never works." He locked his gaze on each of them for a few moments. "The transformation destroys all biographical memory, all emotion. They're technically _alive_, but just as soulless, biological machines."

Everyone fell silent once more. That was more detail on the process than Sven had been aware of, and he'd really been just as happy not hearing it. Even with Doom far behind them, he could feel his adrenaline pounding again as the full reality of what they'd just escaped sank in.

"The Drules are monsters," Lance reiterated, finally.

This time nobody disagreed with him.

* * *

><p>"So has anyone stopped to think about what we're gonna tell them on Arus?" Hunk asked as the monitors showed them closing in on the end of the jump. "We're kinda showing up in a Drule destroyer, and I sure didn't memorize the <em>Eclipse<em>'s transponder codes."

"Can you at least kill the Drule codes? We've surely got a better chance of ducking anything automated if we come in with no ID."

Pidge nodded; he was the one at the engineering console right now. "Already done."

"Excellent. All we can do beyond that is be ready to hail as soon as we hit atmosphere." Keith was pacing the bridge, his restlessness increasing as they neared their destination. Hunk had noticed long before leaving Earth that their commander had a hard time staying still when he was stressed, but hadn't really grasped how unsettling it would be once they were on a ship.

"Keith, you wanna take the guns? You look like you're about to jump out of your boots."

A look of gratitude. "Yeah, sure. Thanks." Both of them knew it was symbolic; even if Arus started shooting at them, they certainly wouldn't be shooting back. But sometimes it really was the thought that counted. "Take the comms, big guy. I trust you not to get us shot down."

Hunk chuckled and flopped into the command chair. Technically, every console on the bridge had comm access, but he supposed he needed to have a job too.

An alarm sounded. "Jumpgate path complete. Prepare for extradimensional exit."

"Yeah," Lance agreed, "what the robo-voice said. Exiting in five... four... three... two... now!"

Suddenly the ship was moving again. Or at least, _felt_ like it was moving, though it had actually slowed considerably. They were in the Arusian atmosphere; jumpgates allowed the ship to skip little unpleasantness like atmospheric re-entry. But something... Hunk frowned. Something was striking him as wrong, but he had no idea what or why.

"Uh... can we get a sitrep?" he suggested after setting the comms to an open hailing frequency. If he was going to fake command, he may as well fake it authentically.

Pidge was quiet for a lot longer than he needed to be. Finally, he turned a vaguely uneasy gaze on their navigator. "Sven, how much experience do you actually have with jumpgates?"

Frown. "Well I've certainly never seen one outside of a sim before... but they're not that difficult."

"So you're, uh... you're certain you did it right?"

A flurry of typing. Rechecking the course, no doubt. Sven was muttering to himself in Norwegian and getting progressively more displeased as numbers scrolled over his console. Finally, "Jumpgate course checks out. Dead reckoning checks out. I can run the celestial check, but at this point, if this _isn't_ Arus there's something wrong with these star charts." He leaned back and his tone went flat. "Why do you ask?"

He knew why Pidge was asking. Everyone on the bridge knew. Hunk could see it in their eyes.

There was still no answer to their hails... even in a Drule ship they should have gotten _something_ by now.

"Initial surface scan is coming up negative." Pidge looked at Keith. "I can retune it to look for smaller settlements, or we can keep moving, but some clue on what to look for would help either way."

Keith considered the options. "The capital of Arus is Glenys. It's in the middle of a desert on Macario, the largest continent. Shoot for that, it's probably where we need to be anyway."

Lance nodded. Wordlessly, which was a shock in itself. After a few minutes, he reported, "We're over what looks like the largest continent. Lots of cloud cover. You see anything, Pidge?"

"Main screen," the little engineer muttered. That didn't sound all too terribly promising.

The ship's primary monitor flickered to life, showing the desert. And the city. Or at least, a smoking heap of rubble that had presumably been a city at one point... the shattered hulks of buildings were barely distinguishable as such. Centrally located in the debris was what appeared to be a moat, half-filled with shattered stone; inside the moat, he could only guess there had once been a castle. There certainly wasn't one anymore.

They moved on, following scorched paths that had probably once been roads, finding only more of the same. Ruins.

Hunk felt his stomach drop to somewhere around his ankles. This _was_ Arus... and yet there was nothing but devastation. Certainly not the developed world Colonel Hawkins had sent them to aid. A world of death and ashes.

"...Zarkon moved ahead of schedule." Keith voiced the obvious because nobody else could bring themselves to do it. "We're too late..."

"I'm getting signs of life on deep scans," Pidge reported, nearly shouting it, before the full impact of those words could really sink in. Which was probably just as well. "No telling what kind of life, but there's some faint tech readings too. Better than even chance there are survivors hiding out somewhere, maybe underground."

"Well, that's something." Keith got up and started pacing again. This time Hunk didn't bother trying to get him to stop; in fact, he was straining not to jump up and start moving himself. But in his case the movement would be throwing and punching things and that really wouldn't be very productive.

They couldn't have gone through all this just to be _too late_.

As they contemplated their next move, the _Black Hammer_ kept cruising, and suddenly Lance looked up. "Hey. I've got a structure that looks mostly intact."

"Put it up."

They were over a smaller continent now, and Hunk's first impression of the site that appeared on the monitor was that he'd never seen such bizarre geography in his life. There was a structure, sure. A crumbling castle perched on a cliff. The rest of the cliff itself was covered by a lush forest, yet it was overlooking a desert. With only the faintest strip of greenery between them, the desert gave way to a lake in the east. The mountain range which had formed the cliff stretched far to the west, and he could see what appeared to be an active volcano, lava pouring down its slopes.

"What in the _world_," Pidge whispered. Then he seemed to remember where he was and what he was doing. "Uh. All the lava is messing with our sensors. I can't get a fix on any life signs, but it's the first building we've seen that isn't flattened. Should we check it out?"

"Yes." Keith's eyes had that deadly glint that said they weren't going to like what came next. "Listen. We don't know how long it'll take the Drules to trace us. The last thing we want to do is bring them down right on top of any survivors. We _cannot_ land this ship... besides, at this point we'll be safer on foot." He took a console and reset the comms, killing the open hail that wasn't getting them anywhere anyway. "Arus, if you can hear us, this is the Arus Expeditionary Force. We're aboard the Drule destroyer in your atmosphere." He waited for a few moments, then continued. "We're going to self-destruct the ship and eject."

"We're going to _what?"_ Lance yelped.

"You heard me." Keith closed the comm link. "It's the only option. Make sure we're not over the volcano, strap in, and let's move."


	9. Revelation

**Arusian Crusade: Deployment**  
>Chapter 8: Revelation<p>

_Castles and lions and mice, oh my!_  
><em>Oh, and a princess. Suppose I'd better not forget her.<br>Enjoy! _

* * *

><p>Ejection wasn't as bad as it could've been, all things considered. Nothing compared to an intergalactic jump or being torched by a robeast. Keith shook his head to clear the fog from impact, then crawled out of his escape pod and looked around. He'd landed in the forest. Well-aimed. He could see the <em>Black Hammer<em> vanishing into the distance on autopilot; within the next five minutes, out over the Arusian ocean, it would detonate.

Destroying the ship was not something he'd ordered lightly. It would strand them here if there were no survivors after all... but he had faith in his team's ability to evade the Drules if it came to that. A planet was a big place. And no matter how thoroughly the world had been razed, their engineers could certainly rig up a new comm set from the rubble, to call for aid if all else failed.

Most of all, he could not bring himself to believe the entire planet was dead.

It seemed like everyone should've had time to land and recover, so Keith returned his attention to business. "Report!" he yelled, listening to his voice echo through the branches. Stealth was pretty much a lost cause.

"Right here!" Pidge came running up from behind him, looking a bit disheveled but intact.

Sven turned up wordlessly by his side a minute later. Keith noticed that his right-handed friend was favoring his left arm a bit. "Please don't tell me..."

"It's just sore," his second assured him.

Lance stalked up, grumbling loudly. "Self-destruct a perfectly good ship and eject, he says. It's the only option, he says. Couldn't drop the four of us off then go eject from it all by himself, noooo..."

That got him an annoyed look from Sven. "Not the time, Lance."

The pilot pulled some twigs out of his hair and sighed. "Yeah, I know." His expression became curious, maybe a little concerned. "Where's Hunk?"

"I'm here, I'm here." The last member of their team came lumbering up, looking ill and weaving a bit. "My stabilizers failed. It wasn't fun." He slumped over on Pidge's shoulders. To Keith's surprise, the young engineer stayed standing, squeezing his friend's hands. "Sorry, little buddy... oof."

"No worries."

"We don't have time to rest." Keith kept his tone an even mix of firm and sympathetic. "Are you going to be okay?"

Hunk nodded and straightened up. "All good."

As they picked their way through the forest, Keith was struck by the silence. As if even the Arusian wildlife had been driven to hiding by the attack on their world. It was nothing like the forest they'd camped out in on Earth, full of life and sound, and a cool rage was building inside him with each step. Of course he'd been intellectually aware of what the Drules did to planets they attacked. But to see it... that was something else entirely.

It did at least seem the Drules were uninterested in _colonizing_ Arus. There could be many reasons for that, but if it meant they weren't walking into the arms of a Ninth Kingdom settlement unit, Keith didn't much care which ones applied.

The castle loomed ahead of them now and he studied it carefully. As castles went it was actually a simple structure, a gray stone square with four spires that stretched into the sky. He saw a stub that had probably been a fifth spire, as well, and the castle's facade bore gaping holes. It was not a building that inspired confidence.

Architecture as an applied science was not one of his stronger suits, but he had teammates for that. "Is that castle even going to stay stable?"

He expected Hunk to answer, but it seemed the big engineer was still focused primarily on keeping himself walking in a straight line. Pidge fielded the question instead. "Looks like the damage is pretty superficial from here. Unless you wanted to use one of the rooms where the holes are now, anyway."

Sven nodded his agreement. "I wouldn't go anywhere near the central tower, but the foundation looks solid."

"Yeah," Hunk managed. "What they said."

That was good enough for Keith. He led them forward, and within a few more minutes, they'd emerged from the forest and stood before the castle. Devastated though it was, the edifice was far more imposing up close. The doors had to be four stories high; he noted the crest displayed on either side, a five-colored shield bearing a golden cross and a crown. The symbol of the Arusian monarchy.

Lance cocked his head, studying the doors. "Do we knock?"

"I don't see a doorbell," Keith shrugged, and took a step forward. Just one step.

_Creeeeaaaaaak_.

The whole team jumped back at the sound, exchanging a round of startled looks before returning their focus to the doors. Keith was surprised to find his heart pounding furiously. There had been so much more to the moment than a sudden noise... it was as if the fearsome groaning was a voice itself, the dead castle not just inviting but demanding that they enter.

Who were they to refuse?

The doors led to a vast entry hall, with a grand staircase leading into darkness. The only light in the hall was filtering in from behind them; the doors had halted half-open. It appeared the hall was empty, though that didn't bother him too much. Doors that large had to have an opening system somewhere. Probably _not_ in the main reception room of the castle.

"Come on." Keith gathered his squadmates with a look, and stepped over the threshold.

Almost the moment they'd all entered, the doors squealed again, much softer this time. Closing. Lance and Pidge looked ready to bolt through the shrinking opening, but their commander reached out and grabbed their shoulders. They needed to be here. Every instinct in his body was screaming it.

Footsteps. A humanoid silhouette appeared at the top of the stairs, holding a single candle, peering hawklike down at them.

"Identify yourselves." He was tall and slim, with graying hair and a thick mustache. His clothing was ragged but dignified—a pale tunic covered by a long coat, with a short cape around his shoulders—and he carried a cane, though he wasn't putting any weight on it. He did not look formidable. But there was a fearless, clever glint in his eyes, and Keith was not about to underestimate anyone who'd survived this apocalypse.

He stepped forward and gave a sharp salute. "We are the Arus Expeditionary Force, on special detachment from the Galaxy Alliance. Mission authorization is Wegener Gamma Omega 14-5. We're well behind schedule; we had an unplanned side trip to the slave dungeons of Doom."

That last point brought a slight wince, but the man did not comment on it. "If you are who you claim to be, you were given a secondary authorization code."

"Yes." Keith hesitated. More like a password than a code, really. "All salvation is found where the past and future meet."

A hint of a smile. "All heroes are born of the moment." The proper counter-code. Then, "And salvation has finally come."

_Well, _that's_ not part of the routine. _"Then you believe us now."

"I did believe you to begin with. But since the Ninth Kingdom struck, Arus no longer has a concept of being _too careful. _We did not believe King Zarkon could move so quickly, nor so fiercely. You can see how wrong we were." The man descended and placed the candle he was carrying on the banister. "It is good that you were able to find your way here... I am Coran Hadi, baronet of the Yazata province, one of King Alfor's closest advisors." He bowed his head in greeting. "Welcome to the Castle of the Elements."

The Castle of the Elements. Keith thought of the peculiar geography of the place and decided the name made perfect sense. "Baronet Hadi—"

"—Just Coran, please. Titles mean so little here anymore."

Keith nodded his understanding; his research had said titles were not a huge deal on Arus regardless, but it was better to be safe than sorry. "Coran. As one of King Alfor's advisors, you must know _why_ he sent for five pilots."

"Indeed." Coran looked over them. "In fact, the answers lie within this castle. All will be revealed, but you sound as if you have been through quite the ordeal..."

"We appreciate the sentiment, but the Drules are tracing us as we speak."

"Ah." The old man nodded his understanding. "Then we will move more swiftly, but you must be properly prepared. We have some time. Jumpgates are not quickly traced. You'll need flight suits, and the king will wish to speak to you."

_The king?_ He could practically feel the surprise that shot through his teammates; he shared it. "You mean Zarkon hit your planet this badly and King Alfor still managed to survive?"

"No." The voice was soft and feminine, coming from the shadows off to their right. "But Father will meet with you, regardless."

Coran looked startled. "Princess! When did you...?"

"I heard the doors open. It's them, isn't it?"

"Yes, Highness."

Keith drew a shallow breath as a slender young woman stepped into the hall. Golden flame danced through her hair from the candlelight, and the eyes which locked on the team were as blue and fathomless as the cloudless sky. She was beautiful... beyond beautiful, really. Stunning. But what she wore was even more startling than her beauty, and caused him to swiftly avert his gaze lest he appear disrespectful.

The princess wore a flowing gown of pink. Not something the average human would find at all notable, but in Arusian culture it was very significant indeed. Almost frighteningly so. Pink was the color of death and mourning; it represented the red of mortal blood mixing with the white light of eternity. It was used carefully, sparingly. _To wear something like that_...

For a time she studied the pilots, meeting their expressions of awe and wonder with a look both grateful and haunted. "We feared the worst for you," she said finally. "I welcome you to Arus... such as it is now. I am Princess Allura."

* * *

><p>For nearly a month now, Allura d'Malaika had known no hope. Her world was broken, her family was dead, her people scurried about in the caverns of Arus like rats. Word from the Alliance that they'd lost contact with the Arus Expeditionary Force had barely registered; just one more nail in the coffin where she'd shut everything away. Everything but the desperate need to endure.<p>

Staring at them now, she had to force herself to focus. To _see_ them. To grasp the reality that hope had returned and was standing before her.

"What are your names?" she asked when it became clear her arrival had brought everything to a halt.

Immediately the one in red, who'd clearly been trying not to stare, focused on her again. He had dark hair and ice-blue eyes, and with minimal effort she could feel an aura of electrical intensity crackling around him. "I'm Lieutenant Keith Kogane, the commanding officer." He offered a salute, then quickly withdrew it and bowed instead. Composed, even when blindsided and awkward. That was admirable—she saw immediately why he was in command.

The warrior next to him, slightly taller and more strongly built, also bowed. "Sven Holgersson. Sergeant." His eyes were deep and dark as the lightless abyss of the ocean; his hair and clothing were black as well. It didn't take a trained mystic to detect the chill he carried with him... but a trained mystic Allura was, and so she understood the cold to be a cloak of protection, not hostility.

"Lance McClain." A roguish grin from the leather-clad warrior, wiry and just a little shorter than his commander. Where the first two had been formal, he was relaxed and confident. He had auburn hair, and brilliant brown eyes that held only cheerful warmth now, but she had the sense they could shift to something hellish on a moment's notice. The scorch marks on his clothing seemed somehow fitting.

The fourth member of the group looked young, far too young to be a soldier. But there was a sharp intellect in his emerald eyes as he flicked his hand up in a casual salute. "Pidge." She took the singular name to mean he likely wasn't human, which might explain the age. Even in the stillness of the castle he looked windswept, green tracksuit ruffled, light brown hair hanging untamed in front of his glasses.

"Hunk Garrett." The last of them looked uncomfortable, dark hair wild, hazel eyes darting about the great hall. He was huge, at least eight inches taller than the closest of his teammates, powerful muscles showing clearly through his brown and gold jumpsuit. Yet she sensed a gentleness about him. A mix of nurturing warmth and immovable strength, not unlike the earth itself.

It occurred to her that she had associated each of them with an element. Not from any effort on her own part. It had come so easily, so naturally. They _did_ carry those elements she'd envisioned. And not just any elements.

_The_ five elements.

_Can it be possible? Father couldn't even hint at such things to the Alliance... is it coincidence, or a gift of destiny? _She tried to look deeper, though she didn't really possess the skill to do so.

The little one—Pidge—gave her a searching look in response. Not insolent, but he did look as if he were desperately trying to keep something quiet. But there was no need for that. These warriors had come to save her world, the least she could do was hear their concerns. So she met his gaze with a brief nod, inviting him to say whatever it was he had on his mind.

"You're a psychic, aren't you?" he asked simply.

Lieutenant Kogane gave him a startled look. "Pidge!"

Allura was startled herself. Arusians could tell a mystic of her kind very quickly, but that was Arusians and these were aliens. She raised a hand to stop the commander from berating his warrior, then nodded. "I'm trained as a spirit talker. It gives me some insights into the living, if I focus, though the practice isn't really geared toward that. I apologize. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

He shrugged. "Not uncomfortable, just wondering. Just then you got the _exact_ same look as the psychics on my homeworld."

Allura allowed herself a hint of a smile. There was something refreshing about the young pilot's boldness. For the last month the few survivors here had been walking on eggshells around her—not unreasonable, but the situation was dire enough as it was, and she had come to miss being treated like a real person. Until that moment, she hadn't realized just how much.

"Pidge..."

"It's more than alright, Lieutenant." Allura swept her gaze over them. "I hope all five of you will feel welcome to speak freely. I..." She trailed off. What could she possibly say? Her father was dead and she, his sole surviving heir, was not just a princess to these warriors. She was their supreme commander. Maybe a little decorum was needed, no matter how little patience she had for it.

But she didn't want to command... and what in the world did she expect to command them to _do?_

Coran stepped in, mercifully. "Princess, Zarkon's forces are tracking these five as we speak. We must go to your father as quickly as possible."

Nodding her gratitude for the intervention, she turned to leave the hall. "Go and take care of the flight suits while I make preparations. I'll meet you in the catacombs."

"Of course, Princess."

* * *

><p>The armory was a mess. Rather like the majority of the castle, really. Coran had respectfully waited outside, giving them the run of the place and suggesting they pick up anything else of use while they were there.<p>

The team picked their way through carefully, wary of any ordnance that might be lying around and not terribly stable, though Pidge doubted they were likely to find anything of that sort. Such supplies had mostly been rooted through already, leaving the less practical items behind.

Like uniforms. "What d'you suppose all the colors are for?" Hunk inquired of no one in particular, staring at a shelf of the colored-and-white flight suits.

"Maybe service branches," Keith suggested.

"Probably. We do that too, right?" Lance moved forward and started pulling stuff out. "Red for command, black for navigation, blue for piloting, green for engineering!" As he spoke he was throwing appropriate uniforms at the appropriate pilots.

Hunk caught his green uniform and threw it right back. "Uh-uh, no way. If we don't _have_ to use our Alliance colors, I'm not _gonna_ use my Alliance color! Green, ugh." A hesitation. "Uh, no offense, little buddy."

Pidge smirked. "Don't worry, Hunk. We can't all look good in green." He studied his uniform, a frown of concentration replacing the smirk. Lance had actually pitched him one that might be small enough to fit properly. The suits themselves bore no resemblance to Alliance flight suits; they were lightly armored and looked almost as if they were made for ground combat as much as flight. "These things are a little weird."

Pulling several orange uniforms from the shelf and starting to check sizes, Hunk waved that off. "Gotta wear something. Piloting in civvies would be weirder."

Keith scrounged up a firearm that the scavengers had missed, while Sven had explored further and was walking back with... _a sword?_ Keith actually chuckled. "Nice blade. We're not in the arena anymore, you know."

Sven shrugged. "Going to be as useful as that," he pointed to Keith's weapon, "how much fighting on foot do you really think we'll be doing?"

"You never know. Find yourself a gun too, will you?"

"If there are any left, sure."

The group split up as everyone else went in search of weaponry. Ducking behind a fallen shelf, Pidge changed quickly and was pleased to find the suit fit him just fine. The armor was much more flexible than he'd initially expected, another plus. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Poking his head out from his changing spot he noticed a metallic glitter on the ground to his right.

_Knives? Knives are good._

Sure, Keith seemed to feel they needed guns, but a ranged weapon was a ranged weapon. Moving to where the glinting blades were scattered he realized they weren't knives at all. Not exactly. Instead they were thin, star-shaped projectiles with a central hole that he assumed must be for aerodynamics. _Four times the sharp parts, four times the efficiency, four times the awesomeness_. "I don't know what you guys are, but I think I like you."

"What, you've never seen throwing stars before?"

Pidge jumped as Keith came up behind him, still pulling his red gloves on and looking at the stars with interest. "Don't _do_ that."

"Sorry." Shrug. "But I'm serious, that design's pretty common among the Alliance. On Earth we call them shuriken."

"Hira-shuriken," Sven corrected from a perch on a bit of debris. He was in uniform now too, and didn't seem to have made the slightest effort to find a firearm.

"No. They're technically called hira-shuriken, but we do not call them that."

Laughter. "Fair point."

"Four points," Pidge countered, picking several of the shuriken up and looking for a pocket or something he could stash them in. Not finding one, he scavenged a pouch from a nearby shelf and looped it around his belt.

Keith sighed. "I suppose this means you don't feel like you need a gun, either."

"Nope."

"Someone say guns? I've got guns!" Lance came trotting over with a pair of pistols, suited up and looking oddly un-Lance-like. Pidge couldn't remember ever seeing the pilot without his jacket before. "Check these things _out_. High-efficiency energy intake and lossless focusing. You know what that means?" He flipped both weapons in his hands, then took a shot at a training target on the far wall, scorching two holes straight through the center. "Unlimited ammo!"

Sven looked mildly alarmed but said nothing; Keith slapped a palm to his forehead. "Lance, the castle already looks like it wants to fall on our heads any minute. Can you save the shooting for outside?"

"Hey, the kid genius and the part-time architecture student said the castle's fine. And at least I know my guns _work_. Have you tested yours?"

Pause. Wince. Hunk broke the silence when he emerged in all his orange-suited glory, carrying a heavy rifle slung over his back. "Don't even tell me," he grinned as his commander arched an eyebrow. "I know. It's totally not practical, but it looks scary-awesome enough that will _not_ matter."

"You four are going to be the death of me," Keith muttered, then stood and tugged uneasily at his suit's shoulder armor. "But I guess if you're all happy, it's good enough for now. Let's go."

* * *

><p>Coran led them to a glassed-in elevator shaft. Sven was noticing that the interior of the castle, though in shambles from the Drule attack and whatever had happened since, was displaying a much greater technology level than the exterior seemed to hint at. He assumed this was typical, but something else was bothering him. "How did this castle make it through so intact?"<p>

A nod of acknowledgment from the old advisor. "When Zarkon's forces came, this entire region was covered by a terrible storm. It is not uncommon. The Castle of the Elements is named for its proximity to all five elements of Arusian philosophy, lightning chief among them." He stared up at the walls rushing by them. "Drule fighters aren't very sturdy in such weather. Their command ship bombarded us, but without reliable sight or sensors..." His amber eyes lowered. "We were very lucky. Or perhaps it was something greater than luck."

Touching the two good luck charms now tucked safely away in a pouch at his side, Sven wasn't about to question any superstition Coran wanted to invoke. "Maybe."

Princess Allura was waiting in the depths of the castle. She led them through the shadowy catacombs as if she'd been there a hundred times. Maybe she had. "When the Castle of the Cross was razed, Father was captured—they say he brought down a full detachment which was trying to take him alive." She stopped and closed her eyes. "The few who survived in Glenys said his body was returned to the wreckage by a full Drule honor guard. They respected his refusal to tell them anything... they are very strange monsters." Her gaze hardened as she began walking again. "But monsters nonetheless."

"His last request was to be interred at this castle." Coran walked up to a panel on one of the walls and ran a fingertip along several small indentations. Lights flickered, and a faint tremor ran through the floor. "With Glenys and the Castle of the Cross gone, and the project hidden here, he believed this was where the future of Arus would be centered. But for some time now, any future has seemed unlikely." With a final lurch, the wall panel began to rise, revealing a vast room with a single, ornately wrought vault at its center.

Sven had no idea how to react to this. Yes, they'd mentioned speaking to the king, but there were plenty of explanations for that. Until the moment they entered the tomb, he'd been assuming Alfor had left a recording or something. But this... what had Allura said?

_I'm trained as a spirit talker._

Surely she hadn't meant...

Shaking off whatever concerns he might have, he trailed into the room behind Keith. Their commander had done weeks of cultural research on Arus, and if _he_ thought walking into a royal crypt like this was reasonable, Sven wasn't going to argue with it.

The princess moved forward, then looked back at the pilots and pretty much confirmed what he'd been wondering. "Please, do not be startled by this... my understanding is that on Earth you don't usually speak to your dead." It wasn't really a question, and she didn't stop to wait for an answer anyway, turning her attention to a circle of candles which surrounded the vault. As she lit each one she whispered something inaudible.

It might have been his imagination, but Sven was certain a pale aura was gathering around her as she moved... no. No, it was definitely _not_ his imagination, he realized as a flicker of light appeared in front of the tomb. It was pulsing in sync with the lights gathering around Allura, drawing the candle flames into itself, solidifying into a human form.

"Oh..." Lance looked like he was fighting not to back away. Sven felt it himself. Whatever was happening was almost as terrifying as it was awe-inspiring, but the princess had said not to be startled, and he was at the very least not going to admit to being startled. Not here, anyway. Maybe later.

The lights fully coalesced as Allura finished with the candles and stood once more at the front of the tomb. "Father. They've come."

"Indeed," a powerful voice echoed from the glowing figure.

Lance gave up on composure and stumbled backward; Pidge had gone whiter than the ghost in front of them. Keith and Hunk were both frozen, staring in silent awe.

_So this is King Alfor_. Sven studied the spectral image closely, trying to commit everything to memory. The king was tall and broad, calm dignity in his features, sharp intellect in his eyes. _This is King Alfor's... ghost._ The concept chilled him, but he fought it. There was nothing to fear from this specter, the man who had brought them here. The man behind it all.

Alfor's gaze locked on each pilot in turn. "The Alliance chose well," he declared softly as he studied them. "I had hoped to truly meet you, to guide you on Arus as I could not guide your training. But destiny has demanded otherwise. I see what you have been through, and the strength born of it." When his eyes fell on Sven the navigator barely suppressed a shudder. It wasn't fear. Not exactly. Only the sense of being judged by something so far beyond his comprehension... the stars and the void suddenly seemed insignificant next to the weight of eternity in the dead king's gaze.

Coran knelt before the ghost. "My king, the project has survived in its entirety."

A solemn nod. "Then there is no more time to be lost, old friend. Reveal the truth." The ghost turned slightly, his gaze settling on Allura. "My daughter, the burden of leadership falls to you. Be strong, and remember that you need not command in solitude."

"I will do my best, Father."

Alfor looked over the pilots one more time. "I will be watching over you, warriors. But I have no doubts... your spirits burn with unmistakable light, and I know that you _will_ save this world." Almost before he'd even finished speaking, the ghost shimmered and dispersed, his aura flowing back to the candles which surrounded his tomb.

Silence. Dead silence. Poor word choice, perhaps, but there was no other way to describe it.

Lance could always be counted on to dispel such uncomfortable moments. "So, guys, no pressure or anything! Let's go save a planet." He spoke a little too loudly and Pidge, who was closest, elbowed him. "Ow..."

"But it is as you say." Coran nodded to Lance, looked over the rest of them. "Come with me. It is time you understood precisely why you have come here. Why the Alliance, even those chosen to aid us, had to be kept in the dark about so much."

As they turned to leave, Allura remained standing by her father's tomb, and Sven could see the faintest hint of tears glittering in her eyes. "All of you go on... I will join you later."

Nobody argued. Who was going to argue with a princess? Perhaps more importantly, who was going to argue with a grieving daughter? But Keith paused for a second in the doorway, looked back at her. Uncertain. His eyes had clouded over, then suddenly sharpened with the unshakable focus he always got after coming to a difficult decision. He moved forward again.

The princess cocked her head. "Lieutenant?"

Keith knelt, took her hand, and kissed it. "We will not fail you, Princess Allura."

* * *

><p>On a lower floor of the castle—quite centrally located, if Pidge's sense of direction was to be trusted—they found the place Coran called the control room. It was circular, with five numbered doors placed at even intervals along the edges, and a large monitor array that dominated the floor. Each door had a color. Pidge wondered what that was about, but they'd been promised answers, so he kept silent and waited for those answers to arrive.<p>

Anticipation hung heavily in the air. It felt like they had all been building up to this for so much more than a few months. Like their lives had come to center on this moment.

"You must forgive King Alfor's secrecy. I can only imagine how frustrating your training must have been." Coran looked at the primary monitor, which was focused on a ruined stretch of land that had once been a town. "It could not be helped. The destruction is terrible now, but at least there were survivors. If the Drules had intercepted even a hint of what was truly going on here, they would have rendered Arus entirely uninhabitable."

Hunk's eyes widened. "That big a deal, huh?"

"Indeed." He leaned forward on his cane. "As it stands, however, Doom did not manage to destroy the weapon they were searching for... they left confident that nothing so complex as a new defensive system could survive the damage they'd done to this world, and the loss of the king. But they were wrong. The project survives." His eyes narrowed. "_Voltron_ survives."

_Voltron?_ Pidge hesitated. He'd heard that word before somewhere, but couldn't place it. Glancing around the rest of the team he saw they all looked as confused as he was, if not even more so.

Except Keith. Keith looked shocked, and perhaps a little skeptical, but certainly not confused. "Excuse me, Coran. Did you really just say Voltron? As in... Voltron... existing?"

"That's what he said," Lance cut in before the old man could answer. "Why, what's a Voltron?"

_Wait. Voltron!_ Pidge remembered now. Voltron had been mentioned in a xenomythology class he'd taken at the insistence of his academic advisor. Something about broadening his horizons. If only she'd known. "You're really _not_ very well-versed in Drule culture, are you, Lance?"

"Why in the world would I be? I just shoot them down."

Keith favored him with a scowl, then his expression faded to its usual seriousness. "According to Drule mythology, Voltron was one of the Heretic Pantheon—a gigantic knight who was said to have risen from the core of a planet of lions, and destroyed a large chunk of the first Drule Empire before the chaos goddess Sarga confronted and dismembered him." He paused for a moment, still putting things together. "And Sarga is also the patron goddess of the Ninth Kingdom... but you can't be saying that myth..."

"...Is no myth," Coran finished calmly. "Though Voltron was not a god. He was an autonomous machine built by beings whose identity has been lost to history, and his pieces were scattered across the planet where he fought his final battle for millennia..." The monitor flickered and split into five screens. "Until our late King Alfor discovered them."

"Did he just say they dug up a dead demigod?" Lance whispered as the images came into focus.

"Close enough, I think."

Each monitor displayed something... it was hard to say what they were. If the Drules had been fielding such things, Pidge would've called them robeasts. For the moment, the best description he could be sure was accurate was that they were large metal cats. Each of the five was a different color, and while they all bore certain similarities, each seemed to have its own character as well. He took particular notice of the green one, its jaw set in snarling defiance.

It didn't make sense, unless... _five pilots and a dismembered robot. Dismembered. A body, two arms, two legs... five pieces._ "Those are the pieces of Voltron?"

Lance frowned. "They look like cats to me."

"That is because they are." Coran turned to face him. "Voltron always appeared to bear the heads of five lions on his armor. King Alfor and his most trusted mystics and engineers were able to convert the fallen pieces into robotic lions, each able to be controlled by a single pilot. Alone they are swifter and more powerful than any comparable craft. United, they are more than a match for the mightiest Drule battleship... or even a robeast."

It was happening too fast, and Pidge could feel his heart racing. _Voltron_. He couldn't even quite believe it was real... and yet what Coran was telling them made so much sense. Of _course_ Arus couldn't tell the Alliance they were dredging up a mythological being that would scare the Drules witless. Of _course_ five such craft could be powerful enough to stop a Drule assault.

The thought of omega protocols flickered into his mind. He pushed it out. They would have time for that later; best to stick with what they were good at for now. And what they were good at was the primary configurations of the mysterious craft.

No. No longer mysterious. _The lion craft._

Sven crossed his arms. "We can't have that much time left. Are the lions ready to fight?"

"Very nearly. Their construction is complete, but you will need the keys which activate them." The advisor pressed a button, and five slots opened up in a nearby console, revealing five tiny steel-blue machines. With a series of squeaks they came to life, staring at the five pilots with wide, glowing eyes.

"Are those _mice_?" Hunk asked, when it became apparent nobody else was going to voice it.

Coran nodded. "Lions are not native to Arus, so King Alfor sought out the mythology of other worlds to inform his project. He favored a tale—one of Earthly origin, if I'm not mistaken—of a mouse saving the life of a lion. A cautionary story about not writing off even the smallest of creatures." He gestured to them. "These mice were fashioned as diagnostic tools, to aid in the reforging of Voltron. And when Zarkon came, each was entrusted with hiding one of the keys."

Keith took in the mice calmly. "And the lions themselves?"

The advisor pointed to the doors. "Each of those chutes leads to one of the dens where the lions are hidden. Red, Green, Blue, and Yellow Lions are accessible from them now. Black Lion had not been moved from the workshop to its den yet when the Drules came, but it will be easy enough to reach."

"Alright." Their commander looked to their guide and nodded. "Zarkon's forces will be here any minute, and I'd like to be able to greet them with some firepower." He turned his gaze on the little machines, then back to Coran. "Can you tell them to bring the keys back?"

The mice gave a round of squeaks and stood at attention, their eyes flaring, each taking on a different color... matching the colors of the lions. Pidge was certain the gray-eyed one made a salute with its tail.

"Go," Coran ordered the metallic creatures. "Go and retrieve the keys. The time has come!"


	10. Cat and Mouse

**Arusian Crusade: Deployment**  
>Chapter 9: Cat and Mouse<p>

_Argh, I hate writing combat. But I hope you enjoy reading it! Totally worth it then... hehe._

* * *

><p>The five pilots sat in a circle on the floor of the control room. Nobody spoke, though there was no reason not to. No reason but shock. The story they'd been told was taking time to sink in, no doubt... Coran was not pressing them. He sat at the command console, monitoring the skies.<p>

_Voltron_.

Keith had repeated the name in his mind until it lost all meaning, and kept repeating it until it started reassembling itself into a word that made sense once more. The idea that such a being could exist, let alone be turned against the Drules as a weapon, was beyond him. Sooner or later it all had to sink in. But that time had not yet come.

Squeaking broke his concentration, perhaps mercifully. The blue-eyed mouse had returned carrying a flat silver oval edged in blue; the Arusian crest was engraved on one side. It sat back on its haunches, studied the pilots for a few moments, then walked up and offered the key to Lance.

The blue-suited pilot took the key with a laugh. "First choice! Good to know even robot rodents can see who's the best pilot on the team."

"Mice are actually known for their poor eyesight," Keith retorted.

Lance glared. He was pretty sure the mouse glared too, but before he could worry about whether it was really offended or not, the green-eyed one darted in and dropped its green-bordered key in Pidge's lap with a cheerful squeal. Its yellow-eyed comrade had come up just behind it and hesitated, looking over the pilots, thin wire whiskers twitching slightly.

Hunk chuckled. "Am I close enough to yellow to take that one, little guy?"

A squeak-click of consternation, but the mouse handed him the yellow key anyway and retreated to join its companions.

So far, so good. Keith had almost permitted himself to feel optimistic about the mission for the first time since the loss of the _Eclipse_. Almost. But any illusions of optimism that may have been forming in his mind were immediately tossed aside as alarms began scream for attention.

"Guess they're here," Lance said lightly.

Coran nodded, looking up from the main console. "We have a Drule dreadnought and some support ships in atmosphere. They've emerged over the southern pole." An image appeared on the screens, wavering in and out. The dreadnought was flanked by two cruisers; the picture flickered out before Keith could identify anything else. "My apologies. Our visual coverage isn't reliable."

"Understandable." Keith stood, and was startled by a squeak at his feet. The red-eyed mouse had returned unnoticed and was now poking his shin for attention, the red key lying beside it. "Oh! Sorry about that." He knelt and took the key. It was lighter than he'd expected, though the responsibility that came with it weighed it down some. "Thanks."

"Skwee."

As the alarms continued to shriek the gray-eyed mouse finally reappeared, but it had arrived empty-handed. Or empty-pawed, perhaps. Either way it jumped up on the command console, squeaking and clicking with what seemed to be a great deal of distress.

Coran listened to the mouse quite seriously, then nodded. "It says it can't reach Black Lion's key alone, due to the damage to the castle." He looked at the pilots, then back at the monitor, where the image had returned. The inbound dreadnought was starting to launch its fighter squadrons. "There's no time to waste. It won't take Zarkon's forces long to find us in the clear weather."

"So we'll go with what we've got." Lance was clutching his key tightly, eyes flashing. "Four lions'll be plenty to take out those hovering scrap heaps the Drules call fighters."

True enough. The larger ships would be interesting, but the lions might be nimble enough to evade capital weapons—certainly they'd been very quick back on the sims. Keith nodded, looking at the red key he'd been given. "We'll take the four lions we have now, and send the fifth person to help the black mouse get the last key."

Sven looked down at his black-gloved hands, which were still not holding a key, and arched an eyebrow. "Guess that's my job."

"No." Keith shook his head. "It's not." He would have liked to be able to follow that up by offering to sit it out and search for the key himself. After all, he was the commander. They all wanted to take some shots at the Drules, but he should be willing to sacrifice his own desires... and he _was_ willing. But this was not a matter of which of them was ready to be the most selfless. Pragmatism had to rule over all.

"It's not?"

"No." He turned to the team's youngest member. "Pidge, you're the smallest and quickest one here, so I'm leaving this to you. If we're still fighting once you have the key, get to Black Lion and join us as fast as you can."

"Got it." If he was displeased with the assignment Pidge kept it to himself. Wise choice. Handing the green key to Sven, he turned his attention to the gray-eyed mouse and nodded. "C'mon Squeaky, let's do this."

The mouse gave a chitter that was either amused or indignant, then bounded off with the little pilot trailing just behind.

Hunk stood up, juggling his own key casually in his hands. "Time to do some damage?" There was a glint of excitement in his eyes. Breaking stuff was his specialty, after all... and whatever they were, whatever ancient myth they'd come from, the lions looked like they would truly _excel_ at breaking stuff.

Keith nodded. "Let's move."

* * *

><p>Spirit talking was a draining art which took a lifetime to master. Young as she was, Allura could only maintain a few minutes of conversation at a time. She had not remained in her father's tomb to speak to him further. Only to draw comfort from his presence. The crypts were peaceful... soothing. She'd spent much of her time in the Castle of Elements walking these silent hallways, drawing every bit of strength she could from the ancestors.<p>

Not her own ancestors, of course. The Malaika dynasty had been buried beneath the Castle of the Cross. With any luck, the Drule razing of that castle had not collapsed the miles of tombs below, and someday it could be rebuilt. Even if the future of Arus rested here, the past would not be neglected.

_Someday. A future_. The words sounded so strange to her. If she were perfectly honest with herself, Allura was still wondering when she would wake up. When this dream of hope would end and she would return to the ruined darkness.

Tentatively she touched where Lieutenant Kogane had kissed her hand. Surely with such contact it couldn't be a dream, could it? How long had it been since anyone had touched her at all? She vaguely remembered Coran holding her as the casualty reports came in. After that... nothing.

Sirens rang out.

The castle's alarm system did not actually reach into the catacombs; such mortal concerns had no business disturbing this realm of the dead. But the echoes from above could not be missed. _The battle's begun_. Sitting in the crypts listening would drive her mad, so she started to move. No doubt the control room was the best place to go to keep track of what was happening, but first she made a detour to her bedroom.

Mounted on the wall was an ornate bow, forged of mystically-wrought silver with gold and sapphire inlay. An ancient weapon, a treasure of the dynasty. One of the very few possessions she'd brought with her when King Alfor scattered his heirs over Arus, hoping at least one would survive as Doom bore down on them. A simple leather quiver rested next to the bed. She strapped it around her waist, taking a quick count of the arrows out of habit.

Technically the bow had belonged to her older brother, leader of the Arusian Star Knights. He'd taught his little sister to use it until his daughter came of age. Now Prince Acamar was dead, and Lady Larmina presumed to be likewise... so she wielded the weapon in their names.

Allura was a mystic, not a warrior. The bow was a single, outdated tool against a technologically advanced army. But she'd be damned if she would sit by, completely unarmed and helpless, while the five alien pilots fought for her world. And if the unthinkable happened... if the Drules breached this castle... at least one of them would get an arrow to the heart for their troubles.

They had taken almost everything from her. They would take nothing else without a fight.

She slung the weapon over her back and headed for castle control.

* * *

><p>The green door in the control room led to a shaft that stretched deep below the castle. There was a staircase spiraling around the outside wall, but that seemed to be a backup measure; what appeared to be a complex form of a zipline was the primary feature of the passage. Assuming each access way was similar, Hunk wouldn't like that; he hated heights. Sven shrugged it off and took the jump, focusing on the wind rushing by and pointedly not looking down.<p>

The line ended quicker than he'd expected at a shuttle, which seemed to recognize it had a passenger almost instantly. He'd barely made it to the front before it lurched into motion, carrying him through a glassed-in tunnel that appeared to be well underground. He thought he could make out thick roots through the glass. _Beneath the forest?_

As the shuttle came to a halt he got his answer. It had taken him to a cave, with hints of sunlight filtering in from a distant entrance. Not a lot of light. But enough to see the golden eyes that were peering down at him, seeming to glow in the dimness. He was in Green Lion's den.

He looked up at the hunched-over machine. It looked back at him. Suddenly he was realizing that Coran hadn't explained how to get _into_ these things once they reached them. _Minor detail._

A squeak. He jumped, whirled on the sound to see that the green-eyed mouse was now sitting in the shuttle, staring at him. "How did you get... never mind. I don't suppose you know where the door is."

"Skwi-skreek!" It clambered up onto his arm, took the key, and held it out toward the lion craft. The key glowed.

Immediately, Green Lion dropped from its sitting position with a metallic whirr, resting its head on the ground and opening its jaws wide. He could just barely make out what looked like an access hatch within the gaping maw. _Well then. _That's_ not unsettling at all_. But unsettling or not, he was starting to hear noises outside. Noises that might very well be Drule fighters on attack runs. _No time to waste_. He vaulted over the lion's fangs, followed a short corridor in a half-circle, and found himself in a very familiar cockpit.

And yet, he realized as he took the pilot's seat, it wasn't quite familiar enough...

Sven frowned as he looked over the controls. _This isn't right_. He placed the key in what looked like a key-shaped indentation and watched the monitors come to life. But it wasn't quite the proper layout of monitors.

"Everyone set?" Keith's voice crackled over the comms.

He was able to find that button, at least. "I'm here, but something's not—"

"—You too, huh?" Lance cut in before he could finish. "There's no way this thing's what we were training on back at the academy. The piloting controls are fine, but everything else is all wrong."

"I don't think we have time to worry about it." Keith sounded concerned as well, but his command tone was as convincing as always. "Do what you can, but we have to get out there, even if all we can do is crash into things. These lions are a lot sturdier than those Doom fighters."

He had a point there. The standard-issue Drule fighter was built for ease of production and swarming tactics, not durability. And the lions did have claws and sharp teeth, certainly another plus if they could figure out how to work them... no doubt it involved what the sim techs had assumed to be redundant directional thrusters. And really, who could blame them for not expecting the ships to have _legs?_ Sven started the craft moving, trying to get a feel for it, and was startled to find it coming naturally to him. More naturally than even all the training could account for. It didn't feel like something he'd been learning for months, it just felt _right_.

The movement was one thing. But as Green Lion emerged from its cave into the forest, he still had no idea what kind of firepower he was carrying. Putting half his focus into steering the lion straight, he started looking over the weapon controls. It couldn't be _that_ difficult.

"Why wouldn't King Alfor have given the Alliance a heads up if he was going to change these around so much?" Lance was muttering darkly. "Doesn't make any sense... not to mention why he'd do it in the first place if these are really the pieces of some techno-myth..."

Hunk had been uncharacteristically quiet, and as his Yellow Lion came charging out of the desert to meet the rest of them, he finally spoke up. "Thinkin' it might be too soon to freak out, you guys. My controls are fine."

Blue Lion turned to face him; Sven was pretty sure the lion actually managed to look annoyed. "Oh, that's just great. Lucky you. Now this makes even _less_ sense for the rest of us."

"You sure?" Yellow cocked its head. "Think about it. Hawkins said Alfor sent them cockpit _schematics_, right? Like, plural? I kinda figured he just meant the primary and omega configurations, but look at these lions. They're all different."

Sven's eyes widened as that observation sank in. _Of course! _"You think each lion is unique."

"Only thing that makes sense."

"Hunk, you're a genius!" Lance sounded happy again. "And, uh, Blue Lion is definitely not mine. Which one of you's got the cluster laser controls right above the rear view screen?"

There was a brief silence, then a flurry of crimson darts erupted from Red Lion's shoulders. "I guess I'm it. But you're going to have to deal with Blue for the moment, there's no way we can switch now." As if to prove Keith's point, the first flight of Doom fighters entered range and unleashed their own lasers on the lions.

Sven oriented on one of the small craft, eyes narrowed. _Most_ of the weapons were off from what he'd trained in, but the main frontal cannon seemed to be the same... he triggered it and hoped he was right.

Green Lion's jaws snapped open and a ferocious cyclone erupted from them, snatching the fighter he'd aimed at and three others nearby. The captured ships slammed into each other, then crashed to the ground as a single heap of twisted steel. "Whoa..."

"That was awesome," Lance complimented, swooping past him and—Sven drew back slightly, not sure he believed what he was seeing. A panel on Blue Lion's back glowed, and suddenly a weapon rack was simply _there_. "And this thing's okay, but I really want my lasers."

_How in the... wait_. Sven watched a trio of glowing darts rip into a Doom fighter, and his fingers unconsciously moved to a panel which seemed to control Green Lion's back-mounted turret. Where _his_ ship ought to have some triple-barreled projectile weapon. "Lance, you wouldn't happen to have six missile guidance monitors along the sides of your main screen, would you?"

"Matter of fact," the dart launcher disappeared and two missile racks shimmered into existence on Blue Lion's shoulders, "I do."

"Excellent. You've got something that belongs to me. Try not to break it."

"You be nice to me, and I'll do my best."

* * *

><p>Cossack gawked at the monitor, trying to fathom what had just appeared from the terrain around the ruined castle. Ruined but not fallen—it had been an obvious place to start looking when orbital scans did not reveal the <em>Black Hammer<em>. Perhaps too obvious for the slaves, who after all were not fools. He hadn't really expected to find anything of interest.

And suddenly he'd started losing contact with his fighter squads.

"What in the name of Sarga is going on down there?" one of his aides demanded, gaping with even less decorum than his commander as the metal cats came into view. Telzar had many fine skills, but keeping his mouth shut was not among them. "Are those_ lions?"_

Yes. Yes, they were. A shudder ran through Cossack as he watched, and slowly his composure began to return. Shock was giving way to revulsion. "Lions." His lip curled in disgust. "The Arusians were building a blasphemy under our noses." He slammed on the comms. "All units, this is Commander Cossack. Focus fire on the lion robeasts. Teach these heathens the cost of mocking the Drule Supremacy!"

Even as he issued the order and heard the _Ebon Flame_'s combat engines roar to life, something was bothering him. Not quite adding up. He'd never heard of the Alliance using robeasts, but then, border worlds often had their own surprises. That wasn't it.

"Repulsive beasts." His helmsman, Atorin, looked up at the monitor and shook his head as he brought the ship around. "Makes me wish I were a gunner so I could land some shots myself."

Cossack shared the sentiment, though he would never be undisciplined enough to say so. Lions were the most reviled of all creatures known to the Ninth Kingdom. They were the favored symbol of Voltron the Destroyer, ancient enemy of almighty Sarga, and he himself remembered many bedtime stories from his youth. Warnings that if he were weak or disobedient, one of Voltron's lion minions would come to devour him in the night.

There would be something oddly satisfying about this battle. Destroying these metal avatars of childish fears. And yet still he was uneasy... why, if Arus had such weapons at its disposal, had they not been released when the planet was razed in the first place? It didn't make sense.

But there was no time to worry about it now; they could beat the answers out of any surviving Arusians later. Or not. By the time he was through with this planet, it wouldn't matter.

With the new threat closing in, the slaves were nearly forgotten. Cossack hoped the lions had eaten them.

* * *

><p>"Hey! Squeaky! Slow down a little! This place isn't stable at all, if it falls on our heads that's gonna complicate getting the key back!"<p>

The mouse had led him to the crumbling central spire of the castle; even Pidge was having some trouble keeping his footing, though handholds were easy enough to find in the gouged stone walls. Every so often the tiny machine looked back at him, eyes brightening, making sure its companion was still following as it scurried along.

And these were just the diagnostic units... never mind the lions themselves. _King Alfor must have been absolutely brilliant_. For a moment Pidge felt a pang. Intellectually, it was easy to be sad for the brutal death of a stranger. Feeling true, deep _loss_ for one was much more difficult. But he felt it now, because he wished he could have just spent a few days in the shop with the man who'd designed these masterpieces.

Did ghosts give technical advice? Would that be disrespectful to suggest? Probably.

He could see the battle from here. Doom's forces were in disarray—certainly they hadn't expected resistance on this shattered planet. More certainly, they hadn't expected resistance in the form of giant metal _cats_.

It sounded a bit silly when he thought about it like that.

Suddenly the mouse gave a series of squeaks, scrambled through a small hole in the masonry, and dropped out of sight. Pidge hesitated. He was small, sure, but he wasn't anywhere near small enough to fit through a five inch opening. He stuck his head up next to the hole. "Hey... hey! Isn't there a better way to get in?"

For several moments there was no response, then the mouse reappeared at the opening. It stared at him, sizing him up... _literally_, he realized, as it bared razor-sharp incisors and attacked the stone.

"Are you kidding?" he asked. It didn't stop gnawing on the wall long enough to answer him.

Well, if one of King Alfor's own robot lieutenants didn't mind ripping up the castle, Pidge would rip up the castle too. He located a sharp fragment of stone and started chipping away at the mortar. It took a couple of minutes, but between him and the mouse, they managed to remove a brick and leave an opening just large enough for Pidge to squeeze through.

He dropped into a large, cylindrical room. The walls were ringed with thick metal bands, and looking around he saw what appeared to be several generator coils spaced evenly on the edges of the floor. His hair stood on end; he had the sense he was in some kind of enormous, bizarre, technomystical capacitor. "What in the world is this place?" His first thought was that it must be the castle's power generator, but if that were the case, it should be active and he should've been fried to a crisp as soon as he entered.

The mouse stared at him for a few moments, then jumped up and pulled his scanner off his belt.

"Hey! What do you think you're gonna do with that?"

"Skweee!" Sitting back on its haunches, the mouse raised its tail and extended a wire from the tip, plugging it into the scanner. "Skreee skwee skriikkkt!"

"Okay, okay, relax," Pidge muttered. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"Skri." After several moments the metal rodent unplugged itself and offered the scanner back. "Skweeak. Skwee skreek?"

The little pilot's eyes widened as words formed on the scanner screen.

**Loaded language protocols. You read?**

"Whoa... you can do that?"

**Can do that. Did that.**

"Amazing." Pidge shook his head, then remembered he was standing inside of a giant battery and forced himself to focus. "So, um. Where are we?"

**Launch den for Black Lion. Lion not here. Barely finished. Brought key to den later. Thought give searching Drules big shock if needed.**

Pidge reread that last sentence several times. _Okay, so the robot mouse can't do syntax, but it can do puns. Sure. Why not? _"Is the key still here?"

**Key hidden in C Generator. Damaged and malfunctioning. Cannot retrieve. Would scramble positrons. You retrieve.** With one more squeak that the scanner rendered as** (translation error)**, the mouse darted up to one of the generators and pointed.

Pidge approached the C Generator carefully. Upon close inspection he could see it sparking; a chunk of stone was still sitting next to the generator, below a pretty impressive dent. He looked at his gloves, contemplating their probable insulating properties. Better not to risk it. "This thing is gonna need plenty of repairs." The mouse didn't even dignify that with a response. "So we'll go with Hunk's Theory of Broken Stuff."

**Theory not in database**.

_Obviously_. Pidge grinned. "If it's already mostly broken, you may as well break it all the way." He picked up the rock and slammed it as hard as he could on the top of the generator.

It was actually a pretty sturdy piece of equipment; Pidge had to hit it several times before the casing started to crack. Hunk's theory worked a lot better if Hunk was around to apply it. But soon enough he'd bashed the generator into submission and could see a silvery glint hidden within some of the wiring. The generator was no longer _generating_, but he hadn't seen a discharge either, so it was probably best not to go poking at the wires. Unless...

"Tell me the keys aren't conductive."

**The keys aren't conductive.**

He nodded his satisfaction, then hesitated. _Wait_... _that didn't sound normal at all._ Rethinking the wording of the question he winced. "Um. _Are_ the keys conductive?"

**Yes.**

"Lovely." He sighed. "If I'd gotten electrocuted just then, I would've been very upset with you." As he spoke he was looking around the room for a more manageable bit of stone. With all the damage to this place, there was shattered stone _everywhere_, and he found a suitable shard without much trouble. "Here goes nothing."

Carefully, so as not to drive the key deeper into the tangled mess, he started pushing wires aside, and after about three minutes of work the key finally came free and clattered to the ground. He poked it a few times to be sure it wasn't carrying a charge, then picked it up and hesitated. _Huh. That's odd_. The green key had felt warm and natural in his hand, but the black key just felt like a piece of metal.

No time to worry about it now; he could hear the battle intensifying above them. "Let's get out of here, Squeaky."

**My name not Squeaky.**

He blinked. "Oh. Uh... sorry about that. What is it?"

**Not have one. But not Squeaky.**

_Alrighty then_. Personally Pidge felt Squeaky was an entirely appropriate and applicable name, but if the mouse didn't like it, his opinion probably didn't matter. "You have a preference?" Frown. Something occurring to him... cheese. Mice liked cheese, didn't they? "How about Cheddar?"

Pause. Untranslatable squeak. **Will suffice.**

_Suffice? Really?_ He didn't say it. "Excellent. Nice to meet you, Cheddar, my name's Pidge. Now let's start moving before this tower falls down. We've got a lion to drive!"

* * *

><p>The Doom fleet consisted of a dreadnought, two cruisers, three frigates, and fighters. Lots of fighters. Fighters that could under no practical circumstances be counted. Fighters so numerous that Hunk was pretty sure they were self-replicating in the dreadnought's docking bays.<p>

_Okay, maybe that last one's going a little too far_.

The big engineer's eyes narrowed as Yellow Lion split off from its companions to chase down yet another squad of fighters. The others seemed to be getting the hang of things, but were just a step slower than he remembered from the sims. Probably because they were in the wrong lions. And since he apparently was not in the wrong lion, he would just have to take up the slack. No problem; he was pretty good at breaking stuff. At the academy Pidge had named a theory after him and everything.

Lance had moved to face off against one of the frigates—the smallest warships of the Doom fleet were still three times the size of the lions, but it did look like more of a fair fight than taking on the dreadnought. Keith and Sven rounded on a second frigate, and after blasting the last of the fighters he'd been chasing from the sky, Hunk moved in on the last one and focused. Searching.

Drule ships were compact, with all their practical features fully integrated into the hull, leaving a profile that pretty much came off as a flying brick. Or maybe a better description would be a flying armored potato. Good design choice, really, offering no clear weak points. But there were _always_ weak points. It was just a matter of how carefully you were willing to look...

The frigate's frontal cannon erupted in a violet blaze that passed well to his left. It seemed to confirm what he'd been noticing as they closed on the warships. "We're too small for their main guns to lock onto. Keep moving."

"Pfft. You think _you_ have to tell _me_ to keep moving? I'm insulted by that!" Blue Lion was weaving through a swarm of missiles from its opponent, making it through seemingly unscathed and opening its jaws wide. A stream of water erupted from the lion's mouth. _Water? _Hunk cocked his head, wondering at the utility of that weapon. Yet the pressure of the attack had knocked the frigate's course off slightly, and as he watched a thick wall of ice formed over the target area.

"That was pretty cool."

"It really w... oh shut up, that was awful."

Chuckling, Hunk wrenched Yellow Lion up over his own frigate, scraping his claws over the hull. He'd expected it to mostly be an insult, and was startled when the warship's armor parted easily. _Daaamn. What are these things made out of?_ As soon as the battle was over, he and Pidge would be right on that.

Keith was darting about in front of the ship he'd chosen to face, firing off bursts of flame from Red Lion's jaws and storms of energy from the lasers Lance loved so much. He was melting a good chunk of armor from his opponent as it was, but it was clear his main purpose was distraction; Sven was moving beneath the ship, shredding fighters along the way. But his maneuver had not gone unnoticed. The frigate threw itself into a roll.

_In atmosphere? The hell?_ The maneuver made no sense unless it was trying to protect something important. Something critical. _Wait, of course! _Studying the ship to see exactly what Green Lion had been closing in on, everything suddenly made sense. There was one feature on the warships that could not be hidden within the armor no matter how well-designed it was.

And if it was good enough for a frigate, it should be good enough for something bigger...

His thoughts were interrupted briefly as a deafening crunching sound filled his cockpit. It wasn't from his own ship—turning he saw Blue Lion vanishing _into_ the side of the frigate it had been fighting, through a hole that looked to have been ripped by feline claws. With a shattering roar the lion craft emerged from the other side of the ship seconds later.

With a shudder, the frigate simply fell out of the sky, plummeting to the Arusian surface, as the lion which had just punched through it hovered nearby looking dazed.

"Lance, did I not tell you not to break my lion?" Sven demanded.

"It's not broken, I swear! See?" Lance flew up next to his friend, a little shaky, but after a few moments of study it was clear he was right. Blue Lion was covered in scorch marks and gouges, but the chassis hadn't actually been breached. "I _don't_ think I'll try that again... but it was pretty much awesome while it lasted."

"Let's not be too proud of ourselves yet." Red Lion swooped around a fighter squad, bringing most of them down quickly but taking a few molten scars across its side in return. "We've still got two more frigates and the heavier ships to deal with."

"Yeah, about that." Hunk glanced over his instruments. "I've got an idea. Get me a stop on that closest cruiser, would you?"

Nobody questioned him. Maybe because he was having better luck with his lion, maybe just because they always deferred to him on the matter of breaking stuff. Whatever the reason, all three of his teammates' lions disengaged the ships they were tangling with and sprang up to face the cruiser in a wall of claws and fangs.

The cruiser's main engines came to a complete halt as the ship recognized the threat in front of it and tried to reverse course. Quite obviously, it was more worried about three lions in front than one sneaking around the back.

Reasonable. Wasn't going to work out so well, but reasonable. Hunk brought Yellow Lion up to the dimmed engines and hit his frontal cannon, unleashing what had to be the strangest weapon he'd ever fired in his life. Sand. A deadly, smothering stream of sand that blasted into the engines, scouring the fireproofing from steel and iron, piercing every crack and seam in the ship's structure to shred wiring and power cells behind it.

Explosions started to chain from the belly of the craft as the engine's reactors lost containment, and jets of uncontrolled plasma began spewing from the weapon ports. "In your _face! _Or is that up your... uh... never mind."

"Very nice," Lance complimented, as Blue Lion moved away from the dying cruiser before it exploded completely. "Never knew a sandblaster could bring down a warship."

"Spend a little time in the workshop and you'll learn these things."

"Nah, I'm usually pretty happy with bullets and lasers. You handle the creativity, and I'll just admire it."

Hunk grinned and turned his attention to one of the remaining frigates. "That works too."

* * *

><p>Coran looked up as footsteps rang out at the entrance to the control room. He saw Allura tense slightly, one hand going to the longbow over her back, but she relaxed nearly as quickly when a triumphant squeaking started to accompany the sound.<p>

"We got it!"

Wince. Every time the youngest of the pilots spoke, his lilting voice reminded Coran of another boy... one who had not been gone for all that long, but was gone nonetheless. It was an effort to push the thoughts of his dead son aside, but he would have to get used to it eventually. Turning, he smiled; the news Pidge bore _was_ excellent. "Well done, Pidge! Come. We'll take you to Black Lion."

He noticed that Allura seemed troubled when he said that. One of the first things she'd asked upon reaching the control room was who was piloting which lion... aside from Black Lion's being the leader, he wasn't sure why the answer had bothered her so much. Surely Lieutenant Kogane could be transferred to the command lion once all five were active, and the full truth revealed.

Whatever may have been bothering her, the princess said nothing about it as they left castle control. Instead she was watching Pidge with amusement. The young warrior had the gray-eyed mouse on his shoulder, and kept scratching its ears as if it were a real animal.

"I see you're getting along well with Black Lion's little helper."

"Yep." He nodded seriously. "We had a pretty rocky start, but it's all good now. His name's Cheddar."

Allura giggled. "Cheddar. I like that."

The mouse gave a grouchy squeak. Unsurprising. Coran had not actually been part of the team which had reforged Voltron—technomysticism was not his area of expertise. He'd simply advised King Alfor on certain matters, and offered the Castle of the Elements as a base for the lions. But he had been close enough to the project to learn to understand the mice, and the black one _had_ always been a rather gruff little robot.

Entering the elevator to the workshop, things were silent for a minute. Then Pidge spoke again. "Um, Princess, don't take this the wrong way, and definitely don't tell Keith I asked, but are you any good with that thing?" He was looking at her bow with interest. "It almost looks too pretty to use."

Nodding, Allura drew the shimmering weapon and offered him a closer look. "I've always felt that way too. It _is_ beautiful..." She ran a finger down the bowstring. "My aim isn't bad. But I don't have any practical experience, and it's hard to find ways to train on moving targets."

"Leaves."

"Pardon?"

"Falling leaves." Pidge held up a glinting metal star and tossed it lightly at the side of the elevator, hitting a smudge with a _clink_ and clattering to the floor. "That's how I always practice my throwing. Get outside on a windy day, find a nice tree, and you're all set."

Her eyes widened. "I'd never have thought of that."

Coran watched them, wondering at the interaction. It was clear Pidge was not awed by the princess. No deference to royalty or beauty. He simply treated her as a new acquaintance, one who might happen to have command over him... and to the advisor's delight, it was _helping_. As the two discussed their marksmanship practices, he could see Allura starting to relax, for what felt like the first time in forever.

In the weeks since Arus had fallen he'd sheltered the princess as best he could. Perhaps hovered over her a bit too much. Maybe what she'd needed was to be treated as a friend, rather than a treasure to be protected. And so maybe... just maybe... if she spent more time with these warriors, they would save more than a planet.

He certainly hoped so.

* * *

><p>The <em>Ebon Flame<em> rocked noticeably as a cyclone tore across its frontal arc, ripping a chunk of metal from the iron skull which decorated the bow. Purely cosmetic, but it did serve to reinforce the point that these beasts had no fear of the Drule fleet. _And why should they? We've done precious little to make them fear so far._ It was the first time one of the lions had gotten in range of the dreadnought, and Cossack was deeply displeased with how the battle was going.

"Sitrep."

"We've lost _Aslan's Bane _and the _Blood_ _Condor_," Telzar reported. He kept his tone cool and professional, though his hands were flexing as if he wanted to rip someone's throat out. "The _Ultimatum_ reports a hull breach. _Lawbringer_ and _Fortune of War_ are only showing minor damage. We still can't seem to get a fix on those lion beasts with our capital weapons; light weapons are hitting, but damage is minimal. Point defense systems are ineffective."

Cossack gritted his teeth as another impact rocked his ship, this time from one of the lions firing a barrage of missiles into it. His ship returned fire but missed; the _Ebon Flame_'s formidable weapons were meant to tear into equal opponents, not these darting demons. Only one clear course of action was coming to mind, and he didn't like it, so he looked to his aide. "Give me your suggestions."

Telzar hesitated. "I would advise a tactical retreat, sir." Which was precisely what he'd been hoping not to hear. "Our forces were scattered in a search pattern and unprepared for major combat. We need to regroup. King Zarkon will probably wish to know what we've found, as well."

Ah, yes. The king _would_ undoubtedly be interested to hear the Alliance was now trying to use rank heresy as a weapon. Cossack made a mental note to have an underling deliver that piece of news.

Atorin looked up. "I'd agree with that in theory, but turning our backs on these things is a terrible idea. They blew the _Blood Condor_ by going through the engines." He stopped talking and wrenched the ship into a partial roll, causing another lion's claws-first tackle to pass harmlessly just above their hull. It also caused everyone on the bridge who wasn't strapped in to curse quite profusely, but that was their own fault.

"Sir!" Flame arced in the corner of the viewscreen and one of the sensor techs looked up. "The _Lawbringer_ reports power failure in the starboard weapon systems. Hull remains intact, but..."

_Very well. So be it_. "Silence on the bridge!" he ordered, slamming the comm controls. Though the support craft were taking damage, his own command ship was barely scratched, and had taken no more than a few probing shots at the enemy. Whoever was commanding the lions must have realized that. _You seem fearless, but let's see if you know your limits._ "Arusian forces, I am Commander Cossack of the Supremacy dreadnought _Ebon Flame_. You have fought well, but you must know you stand no chance of victory. We offer you a truce."

There was a pause. Then a familiar voice crackled over the comms; sensors indicated it was actually coming from one of the lions, the red one. _Piloted craft? Lion-shaped fighter craft? _"Commander Cossack, this is Lieutenant Keith Kogane, commander of the Arus Expeditionary Force. Didn't we just meet not too long ago?"

Cossack stared at the console, jaw working wordlessly, replaying the words in his mind and making certain he'd heard them correctly. _That can't be... that can't be! _But it could be, and made everything suddenly fall into place. The slaves had not been tourists at all. They'd been soldiers, and they had played their captors for fools.

Played their captors _beautifully_.

He couldn't help it; he burst into laughter. Telzar gave him a nervous look, as did several other members of the bridge crew who really had better things to be doing than watching their commander laugh. Calming enough to speak, Cossack saluted his enemy with his blade, though of course the human couldn't see it.

"I believe we did, Lieutenant Kogane. I suppose there's no point in offering not to return if you hand over the escaped slaves, then."

"No, no point at all." The lions were pulling back, still ripping through the rapidly dwindling numbers of the fleet's fighter wings, but no longer engaging the warships. "But if it's a truce you want, we'll be happy to oblige. Set a course away from Arus and we won't follow."

"Yeah," a second voice cut in, one Cossack didn't recognize. Sensors indicated it was coming from the blue lion. "Only fair. You let us off your planet, so we'll let you off ours. And you really _should_ consider not coming back."

Telzar snarled. "Are we going to stand for that insult, sir? I say we stay and—"

"—Silence on the bridge," Cossack ordered. Again. The human's insolence _would_ need to be punished, and after regrouping and reporting to the king, they could do precisely that. Right now his fighters were mostly destroyed and his support fleet was crippled. Suboptimal conditions for teaching a loudmouthed escapee his place. He returned his attention to the enemy craft. "Very well, Lieutenant Kogane. We will withdraw for now."

* * *

><p>"Why'd you just let them go, Keith? They could barely touch us!"<p>

"So we can get ourselves into the right lions, for one thing." Red Lion hovered at the front of the team, watching the Drule fleet depart. "Sure, they weren't doing too well... but the _Ebon Flame_ had barely even engaged yet. It was just sitting there watching. If we actually have to deal with a dreadnought, things are going to get a whole lot worse. Even if it can't hit _us_, it might decide to move right by and just raze the castle... we wouldn't be able to stop it. We need more firepower."

Lance started to protest, but Sven cut him off. "He's right, Lance. We need the time."

Sigh. He _knew_ they were right; the element of surprise couldn't last forever, and they'd hardly scratched the dreadnought. But now the Drules would be able to call in reinforcements, regroup, and generally do all those nasty things that they'd prefer the Drules not do. "Okay. So we take some time, get in the right ships. Is that and a fifth lion really going to swing things so far it makes up for letting them call for help?"

"Maybe not in itself. But we've one one more trick up our sleeve."

"Oh, don't say it," Hunk groaned. "Please, Keith, don't say it."

"I have to say it." Their commander's lion turned to face the others. "We still need to see how omega protocols fit into this. With that, we might have a chance."

Omega protocols. Lance cursed under his breath at the hated words, and for a minute he seriously considered yelling for the Drules to come back. But they might hear him. Worse, they might listen to him. So he just sighed and aimed Blue Lion for the lake.

Something was moving near the castle. Something black and red and feline. "Guys! Guys... oh, did I miss all the fun?"

"Afraid so, Pidge. For the moment."

"Aww..." Black Lion pulled back and landed on the edge of the cliff. "Maybe just as well though, there's something weird about this lion. My movement controls are okay, but all my weapons are messed up."

Four voices spoke in unison. "We know."

"Oh."

Keith began steering Red Lion back to its volcano. "Coran, we're coming in. The Drules are gone, but they'll be back... and we're going to need some answers."


	11. Breathing Room

**Arusian Crusade: Deployment**  
>Chapter 10: Breathing Room<p>

_I should probably go ahead and admit that I don't actively ship anyone. So I'm just going to try to throw some hints in for everyone! Flawless logic!  
><em>_Thanks once again for the reviews, and apologies for this being a little behind schedule. Colds suck. Bleh._

* * *

><p>They gathered in castle control, the mood dark but not without hope. The Drules had been forced to retreat. It was a good start.<p>

"There is no doubt they'll call for reinforcements. The fleet they sent is ill-equipped to deal with the lions, and they certainly won't just send the remnants back as is." Coran frowned. "It takes ten hours to reach Arus from Doom by jumpgate, so we should at least have that much time."

Lieutenant Kogane nodded. "Good. We could use some time to get used to these lions now that we know what they are. And which ones we're supposed to be flying." He looked at the black key in his hand. The first thing the pilots had done upon returning to the control room was swap keys around, explaining that they'd trained on specific lions.

And every one of them had taken on the proper element... there was no question in Allura's mind now that destiny was watching over them. Though she wondered why that destiny had demanded the fall of her world. _What did we do to deserve such punishment and redemption? Or is destiny just another word for dumb luck after all?_

She shook it off and studied the pilots. _Ten hours from Doom to Arus_. Not to mention the escape, the ejection, the shock of discovery and their first run in the lions. They didn't look tired, not exactly, but when she stretched her focus she could feel the waves of exhaustion flowing through the room. They had no clear source and it didn't really matter. That they were _there_ was enough.

"You must rest, Lieutenant."

He paused as if that thought hadn't even occurred to him. "I... we... um."

"She's right, Keith." His dark-armored second spoke quietly. "You know she's right."

"I know, but..." Sigh. The commander looked at Coran. "We need to ask you something. And I for one don't think I can settle down until we have the answer... not to mention it's something we'll need to know if Doom's fleet _does_ come back early. Please. We can rest after that."

Coran nodded. "Of course. Go ahead."

"When we were training back at the academy, the ships—the lions, rather—had two different cockpit configurations, one which required a close formation and caused a lot of piloting difficulty. We took to calling that secondary version omega protocols."

"And they were _awful_," McClain pitched in, drawing nods from everyone but Kogane, who just shot him an irritated look and continued.

"Our training officer didn't know the details either, but said King Alfor promised the omega protocols would make sense when we reached Arus."

_Omega protocols_. Since she knew all the details of the project, Allura really hadn't stopped to think how it might come across to the warriors training for it, a galaxy away and blind to the truth. And she hadn't known how much—or how little—information had been relayed to the Alliance to begin with. To hear how they'd coped with it interested her. _The reality would defy belief, but the mystery had to be maddening_.

As much as she would have enjoyed staying for the explanation, she realized there was much to be arranged to make the pilots comfortable in the castle. They really hadn't been expecting guests; the inbound Alliance force had been reported missing in action, after all, and there were more important things to worry about.

_I should be here... but I should be elsewhere. Ugh! Forget ruling a planet, I can't even keep my priorities straight ruling a castle!_

Right now responsibilities came first. She _was_ the princess, and she would take care of these warriors under her command. "I'm going to go have some rooms prepared," she said quietly, and excused herself.

There was only one place to go for such matters. One person to go to, rather. Allura found her already bustling about in the castle's most intact supply center, probably after just completing yet another round of laundry that didn't really need to be done. The work was a distraction.

Distractions were important.

"Lady Hys?"

The plump woman moving amongst the shelves raised her head. "Princess, _please_, I have told you a thousand times..."

"I'm sorry, Nanny." Lady Nanette Hys had, at one point, been a minor noblewoman of the Yazata province. The Drule attack had both leveled her own territory and killed most of the staff at the Castle of the Elements; she'd taken the castle's domestic matters upon herself ever since. And she did nothing in half measures. "I'm surprised to find you here."

"Well, I've only just returned to work after the alarms went off. Another false positive, I trust?"

"Not exactly. Did you not hear the doors open?"

Laughter. "Ach, no. I do apologize. I don't hear a thing when I'm busy working, you know. More refugees, I hope?" Even now, survivors still trickled into the castle, though the rate had slowed to one every few days. Most inhabitants of the province were either dead or had already found shelter.

Allura shook her head. "The Arus Expeditionary Force has finally arrived."

The other woman's eyes narrowed slightly. "What kept them?"

Wince. _They wouldn't have arrived in time anyway... we'd only heard of their departure the week before Zarkon attacked_. She didn't voice it. Lady Hys had lost nearly everything as well; she put on a brave front, but who could blame her for some bitterness? Still. "They were captured in transit, but escaped enslavement on Doom to reach us."

Immediately the woman's entire demeanor changed. "Those poor souls... such a terrible ordeal!" Bitter she may have been, but her better instincts still kicked in quickly. "I'll start a meal right away, they must be starving—"

"Right now they just want to sleep," Allura interrupted gently. It probably wasn't worth mentioning that the lions and their pilots had just seen combat with a Drule armada, and would be seeing it again in a matter of hours. "Can we prepare some rooms for them?"

"Of course, of course! I'll have it done in no time." Nanny put away the last batch of napkins and moved on to where the bedclothes were kept. "Best to use the eastern wing, it's the most intact, several of the diplomatic rooms are still reasonably furnished..."

"I'd like to help." _I need to do _something_ useful with myself._

"Now there's no need for that." Turning, she caught the look on Allura's face. "But if you insist, the pillows are stacked off in the corner, be a dear and put pillowcases on for me. How many of them are there? Five, correct?"

Grateful for the work, the princess didn't even bother questioning Nanny's definition of 'corner', which most definitely was not where two walls met. "Five, yes."

"And what are they like?" she inquired, arching an eyebrow. "Fine, handsome young men, I hope?"

Allura blinked. She was pretty sure she would regret answering that question no matter how she answered it. "They... seem quite formidable, and bear the power of the elements," she finally offered.

The lady snorted and waved that off as she began pulling sheets from the shelves. "Ach, Princess! I have no doubt the Alliance sent skilled warriors. But I was hoping you might manage to find at least one of them attractive."

She felt a blush creeping over her face. "Nanny, I've barely even met them." Very true. And it wouldn't hurt to remind _herself_ of that fact... the way that Kogane's dark curls and McClain's sparkling eyes immediately sprang to the front of her thoughts was not helping anything.

Something told her Nanny could see precisely what was going on in her mind; she chuckled as she finished choosing the sheets. "I suppose you'll have plenty of time yet."

Allura busied herself in a side closet, looking for pillowcases, mostly so her face was hidden among the shelves. Her blush had only intensified. _I suppose you're probably right_.

* * *

><p>Coran looked over the pilots, then gestured to the monitor. "Alright. You must forgive me for how strange this will sound. It <em>is<em> the truth." He typed a few commands and an image appeared. A winged metal knight carrying a huge, ornate sword. Golden fire shot from its eyes, while the helmet, wrists, and feet bore the faces of snarling lions.

Pidge knew it immediately. In fact he was pretty sure he'd seen the exact same picture. "That's Voltron."

"Indeed. This image is probably the best-known artistic representation of Voltron. Having recovered the pieces we can confirm that it's pretty much accurate."

Something about that struck Pidge as odd, and he looked more carefully at the picture. The ancient knight's armor was black and silver, with red highlights. And that was it. Yet the key he was holding, matching the lion he would be driving, was green. "King Alfor found time to give the lions new paint jobs?"

"Not exactly. I'm sure you all caught glimpses of this in combat... each lion is bound to one of the five elements. Black Lion is infused with lightning, Red Lion with fire, Green Lion with wind, Blue Lion with water, and Yellow Lion with earth." As the advisor spoke, each lion appeared on the screen, with the image of the intact Voltron moving aside. "Their colors are a byproduct of the elemental bonds."

_Elemental powers?_ "How in the world..." _Technomysticism. Right._ "Your science can bind nature to technology that strongly?"

"Hey, can we maybe get back on track here?" Lance made a show of suppressing a yawn. "I mean, this is all very interesting and I'd love to hear about it after a nap, but Keith won't let us sleep until we find out about _omega formation_. Not _colors_."

"Sorry."

Coran waited the discussion out, then motioned to the image of Voltron. "Sarga split the knight into five roughly equal pieces. Black Lion is formed from Voltron's head and torso. Red and Green Lions are constructed from the arms, while Blue and Yellow Lions were forged from the legs."

This was going somewhere. It had to be going somewhere. And there was one place Pidge could think of that seemed to logically flow from where they'd started, but it couldn't be... it was impossible at best, ridiculous at worst. And yet...

"The omega formation invokes Voltron's original form somehow?" Keith guessed.

Coran pressed a few buttons, and the images of the lions began to change. Reconfiguring. Four of the lions drew their limbs in, locking them back close to their bodies. Red and Green straightened out, while Blue and Yellow's heads pitched sharply upwards. Black Lion stretched out its paws, allowing the other four to connect, forming arms and legs on a figure suddenly more humanoid than feline.

Black Lion's lower jaw dropped, revealing a fierce, noble face with glowing eyes.

"What you call the omega formation _is_ Voltron's original form."

There was an instant where Pidge's thoughts simply short-circuited. He stared at the artist's image, then at the multicolored representation, brain in a futile overdrive to understand it. To _accept_ it. This mission was weird and unconventional, sure. The lions were amazing, obviously. But this... he wasn't sure if the technological or mythical aspects of the tale were harder to grasp.

All he knew was that it was beyond him.

He snapped out of it in time to note the reactions of his teammates. Lance swore. Sven whispered something unintelligible. Keith gawked. And Hunk's eyes lit up.

"This is for real?"

Coran nodded solemnly. "I'm sure it's difficult to—"

"Best. Assignment. _Ever!"_ He swept his gaze over his teammates, who were all giving him rather odd looks. "Come on you guys, we've got five lion robots that turn into a giant demigod robot knight. You can't even pretend that's not awesome." Pause. "I mean, a little freaky and totally stretches suspension of disbelief, but still awesome."

Hunk's enthusiasm hit something in Pidge. Reawakening him... bringing him back to himself. The big guy was right. Ultimately it didn't matter where Voltron came from. It was a giant ass-kicking robot and they were going to be piloting it.

It _was_ awesome.

"Explains all the glitchy movement in formation, doesn't it? The lions are all _attached_ to each other."

"It does," Keith agreed softly. "And it explains the secrecy. Finding the pieces of Voltron would be bad enough. Reassembling him... the Drules aren't going to take that well at all."

Lance crossed his arms and smirked. "So we form Voltron, and either the Drules run home screaming, or we get to cut them into tiny pieces? Something like that? Sounds like a win-win. Next time they show up, we'll be all ready to tell them to get the hell off your lawn."

"Don't be too hasty." Coran's amber eyes were still fixed on the monitors. "You must understand the limitations of these craft. As I've said, Black Lion had barely been completed when Zarkon's forces struck. The full formation has never been tested, and truthfully, this short reprieve probably isn't the time to do it."

"But—"

"We'll save it for if we get desperate," Keith stated before anyone could lodge a full protest. "We don't even know the full capabilities of the individual lions. That's where we'll start, and the longer we can hold the full formation back, the—" A loud yawn from his left cut him off.

Hunk blushed as all eyes in the control room fell on him. "I'm sorry! I mean, epic as this is, it's been like thirty hours since we slept."

Their commander's pale eyes flickered back to the monitor for a minute, then he nodded. "You're right. This is a lot to take in, and it's been a very long few days... we'll sleep on it first."

Pidge didn't want to sleep. He wanted to get to Green Lion, _his_ lion, and put it through its paces. See what it could do when he understood its full nature. Maybe try to pull some of its coding and technical data... even as he was thinking about it, he yawned too. _Ack. Okay, maybe sleep is good_.

The old advisor nodded his understanding. "Of course. The princess did say she would see about having rooms prepared for you. In the meantime," he cocked his head and studied them, "if you'd like me to arrange for some regular uniforms..."

Keith shook his head. "Don't trouble yourself. They're just clothes."

Before that conversation could go any further, Princess Allura appeared in the doorway with a curly-haired woman who wasn't much taller than Pidge himself. She somehow managed to look kindly and formidable in the same moment; a pristine white apron covered what looked like ragged noble's finery. Her eyes darted over the team quickly, just long enough to take them all in.

Coran smiled. "Warriors, I'd like you to meet our castle chief of staff, Lady Hys."

The woman favored the advisor with a scowl. "Precious little need for titles in this place, as you keep saying yourself, Baronet!" Her voice was low and rushed, with an accent unlike anything Pidge had heard before. She turned her attention to the pilots. "My name is Nanette, I must _insist_ that you all call me Nanny. Come, your rooms are waiting." She turned, beckoning for them to follow, and swept from the control room before they could even attempt to introduce themselves in return.

"Well _she's_ a little frightening," Sven mumbled.

Pidge nodded his agreement. "More than a little."

Standing just near enough to overhear, Allura made a sound that might have been a laugh. "She can certainly be intimidating, but she means well. She took over after Zarkon's attack and made things work pretty much through force of will... without her the Castle of the Elements would hardly be functional right now."

The navigator flinched. "No disrespect intended."

"Oh, don't worry, Sergeant. I had about the same reaction to her at first."

* * *

><p>"Lions."<p>

King Zarkon stood, eyes glowing fiercely, pacing before his throne. He avoided looking at Haggar, who in her centuries of service to him and his ancestors had never once been known to say _I told you so_, but probably deserved to now if ever. He also did not look at the image of Commander Cossack, hovering in midair from the comm crystal. He tried not to look at anything lest his blazing fury leap from his eyes and silence them. He needed his underlings to speak frankly now.

"Yes, my lord. Lion-shaped spacecraft, four of them, apparently under the control of the escaped slaves. The battle footage has been transmitted already. We have withdrawn to regroup at Castor."

With a mostly casual gesture Zarkon caused the footage in question to appear from another crystal, and observed the lions quietly. _So this was the grand defense the Arusians had planned_. The beasts were every bit as formidable as Cossack had reported.

But something was wrong.

"I personally interrogated King Alfor," he said softly, watching one of the lions clawing its way through a frigate. "He was stubborn. Self-righteous. But not _foolish_. Using our own legends to mock us seems like the work of a fool."

"I know only what I saw, my lord."

"Of course." Zarkon returned to his throne; the pacing was serving no purpose. "Haggar. Had you chosen a robeast for the humans to face in the arena?"

"Yes, sire."

"Dispatch it to Castor immediately... have a few of the battlemages augment the jumpgate. Commander Cossack, the closest garrison to you is at Nyx. Requisition what you think necessary from there; the robeast will be yours to command as well. I expect those lions to be destroyed when next we speak. Burn everything on Arus to the ground if you must!"

Cossack saluted. "It will be done!"

Only when the commander's image was long gone did Zarkon finally fix his gaze on Haggar. "This is the destiny you spoke of, then?"

"Perhaps. The slaves were far more than they appeared..." She didn't sound as confident as he would have liked, but the old witch had never been shy about admitting when things were beyond her. It was just that she so rarely had _need_ to. "It is as you said, sire. King Alfor was no fool, and I believe we are missing a piece of the puzzle." Her eyes flickered. "The answer may be known to the Unfathomable One. Shall I contact her?"

The king nodded. Only Sarga's mightiest channelers could call on the goddess directly, but Haggar most certainly qualified as _that_. "Send the robeast first, then go ahead. Report as soon as you are able."

"Of course." She swept from the throne room, leaving her king alone to brood.

Lions.

_What foolishness have you brought down your head, Alfor of Arus? You were a worthy foe, no doubt, but you've overstepped your bounds from your grave!_

* * *

><p>The team had been given the run of the castle, such as it was, and for the most part managed not to get too lost. When they gathered again, they were back in their flight suits, each having come to the same conclusion: all the time spent on Doom had rendered their civilian clothes entirely unsalvageable.<p>

Lance suggested, only half-jokingly, that a ceremonial burning might be in order. Despite himself Keith had agreed; much as he might doubt the _practicality_ of the disposal method, it would help the team unwind and perhaps even relax a bit. Something they all needed quite desperately.

They were gathered around the resulting bonfire in the castle courtyard when Nanny appeared, hauling a large bundle of supplies and what looked like a cooking grate. Allura was trailing behind her with an armful of firewood.

"I think we've got enough fuel," Keith protested, "no sense wasting that right now."

The princess waved that off and began arranging the wood in a circle several meters from the already blazing bonfire. "This is cinderpine, a traditional Arusian cooking wood. We thought you might appreciate some food while you were out here."

"Someone say cookout? I'll help!" Hunk volunteered immediately. "Cookouts are kind of my thing."

"Food in general is kind of his thing," Pidge stage-whispered, drawing laughs from the rest of the team—the loudest from Hunk himself.

Raising an eyebrow as the big engineer walked over, Nanny tried to wave him off. "Oh no you don't. You five have quite enough to worry about. Sit back and let an expert handle the cooking."

Hunk glowered back at the woman, who was perhaps half his size but didn't look the least bit intimidated. "No no no, Lady Nanny. Princess says you've been looking after the castle since the Drules hit. You need a break. So you sit down and let _me_ show _you_ how campfire cookin' is done!"

"Ooh, it's _on_," Lance snickered.

Nanny put her hands on her hips. "What would a _soldier_ know about cooking?"

"That sounds like a challenge."

"Ach, that most certainly is a challenge!"

Hunk saluted the woman with a skewer. "Then may the best chef win! ...Amateur."

Keith shook his head, watching the two stake out opposite sides of the fire. "This looks like the start of a beautiful friendship."

"The last time I heard you say that," Sven muttered, "we were hearing about crush cars for a month."

"Hey! Do _not_ rag on the crush cars..." Lance trailed off as Allura walked over to the spot Hunk had vacated. "You gonna join us, Princess?"

"If you don't mind."

"Pfft. I don't mind the rest of these clowns, I surely don't mind _you_."

_Smooth, Lance. Real smooth_. Keith resisted the urge to throw something at him. Preferably something that was on fire. His friend was getting way too friendly, way too quickly. And sure, that was what Lance did, but... here it seemed like an intrusion.

For his own part, he still couldn't quite figure out how to react to the princess. Monarchy had not existed on Earth for hundreds of years, but the ancient stories remained. Keith had grown up fascinated by those tales of knights and champions and the glory of the crown... silly, outdated fantasies, suddenly brought to life before him.

He was born to be a soldier. And soldiers _needed_ an ideal to serve.

From the way she acted, Keith wondered if seeing the princess as an ideal rather than a person might be doing her a disservice. But he couldn't seem to help it.

Whatever his commander's concerns, Lance was ignoring them. _Shocker_. He'd actually stopped focusing on Allura altogether, because the robot mice had all filed into the courtyard and were now sitting beside the bonfire, calm and well-behaved as intelligent sentient beings.

Sentient beings, anyway. Keith had his reasons to doubt 'intelligent' even applied to his team sometimes.

"So, squirt, I hear you named the robo-rodent you were off frolicking with while the rest of us were out killing Drules." Lance was the only member of the team who could get away with calling Pidge 'squirt'. Probably because he was the only one with enough nerve to try it in the first place.

"Oh, we've named all of them," the little engineer countered, patting the mouse beside him. "I mean, mostly Hunk named them, but they've all got names. The black one's Cheddar, the green one's Colby, the yellow one's Swiss, the red one's Pepper Jack... and the blue one's Sven's ridiculous idea."

The dark-eyed pilot looked up. "Now wait just a minute..." Realizing everyone was staring at him now, he sighed and withdrew the death glare he'd been giving his squadmate. "Its name is Blue, and _I_ still think it's funny."

Keith snorted. That _was_ pretty much typical of their navigator's sense of humor.

"Well played sir, well played." Lance chuckled. "Certainly beats Pepper Jack. Don'tcha think, little dude? C'mere and—OW!" As he reached out to the red-eyed mouse, it clamped its teeth down on his hand with a cheerful squeak.

"Yeah, uh, that one's a little feisty," Pidge warned unnecessarily.

"So I see. Thanks."

Allura's eyes widened as Pepper Jack retreated, and crimson blood bubbled up from the bite marks it left behind. "Let me have a look at that..." She trailed off and looked at Lance with a flicker of confusion. "Ah... McClain? You didn't mention your rank."

"Oh! Sorry. Specialist." He winked as he extended his hand. "But you're more than welcome to just call me Lance if you want."

Keith gritted his teeth and barely refrained from slapping his friend to shut him up. "Lance, I _highly_ suggest you—"

He was cut off by a gentle hand on his shoulder: Sven, trying to calm him down. He didn't really want to be calmed down and shook it off, only to have his second give him a scolding look. "Honestly, he might have a point, Keith. I can do without being called Sergeant for this entire assignment."

"Yeah," Hunk agreed with a shrug. "Not like we've ever been all that hung up on ranks ourselves."

True enough, but they hadn't been dealing with royalty before, either. Yet... even without asking Pidge about it he was outvoted, and Keith was pretty sure he knew which side Pidge would take. "I suppose you're right." He looked to the princess, who'd wrapped a strip of cloth around Lance's wound and was now watching the proceedings with an expression of faint amusement. "Of course it's entirely up to you, Princess."

She smiled. It was the first time he'd seen a genuine smile out of her since they'd landed, and it shocked him—not just by its radiance, but by the fact that such antics had brought it out of her. "If you're certain you don't mind... Keith."

To his own surprise, he suddenly _didn't_ mind. At all. "I'm certain."

A searching look. "And you'll call me Allura, I hope."

_...Walked right into that, didn't I?_ "I..."

_"Most_ of us can handle that, Allura." Lance gave her another wink. "Give Keith some time, he's big on the chivalry thing."

Keith wouldn't admit it, but despite the playful mockery he was actually grateful for Lance's backup. It seemed to be good enough for the princess as well; she looked at him and nodded. "I don't want any of you to feel uncomfortable. I just don't have much experience with warriors, and much less with alie... foreigners." She raised her eyes to the sky. Twilight was falling. "Do let me know if I'm out of line."

_If _she's_ out of line? Really?_

"Oy! You guys ready for food?" Hunk yelled, just before the silence became awkward. He had a plate of what looked like some native style of burger patties and was glowering at Nanny on the other side of the cooking grate. "Because I'm expecting all of you to come back me up."

_Oh boy._ Looking from the engineer who was supposed to have his back in combat to the woman who was apparently in charge of the castle's food and laundry, Keith decided he was probably going to be eating quite a lot from now on.

Just to be safe.

* * *

><p>Considering they'd just torched their only clothes, Coran's offer of regular uniforms no longer seemed like such a bad idea, and they trooped back to the armory again. Arusian military uniforms were styled similarly to the flight suits, except the base color was dark gray rather than white, and they lacked armor.<p>

An unspoken agreement made them all pick uniforms in the colors of their lions, rather than their flight suits. Coran gave them an odd look when they came out, but said nothing. Probably wise.

Turned out Lance had been holding out on them; he was wearing his old leather jacket over his new red uniform. "Weren't you supposed to burn that?" Keith inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Keith, Keith, Keith." The pilot patted him patiently on the head. "The day will come that you understand how fashion trumps all."

"Oh for... get stuffed, Lance."

"I _am_ stuffed. Nanny's no Hunk, but damn, those Arusian spice rolls are something special."

Lance _would_ think so, Sven mused. He suspected the better word for the recipe might be 'lethal', but couldn't say for certain—he'd learned the hard way, years ago, not to even attempt eating anything Lance considered sufficiently spicy.

"Yeah, special." Hunk snorted. "Except for the batch she set on fire. Just like I said. Amateur."

Pidge giggled and slapped the big engineer's arm. "We all saw you drop that match on her side, Hunk."

"...I did no such thing."

"Uh huh."

Keith buried his face in his hands. "Children, you realize we have something like three hours until a Doom armada falls on our heads."

"Yeah, and three hours is a ton of time. I'm gonna go walk dinner off." Lance pulled his jacket tighter around himself. "Don't worry, I won't be long. You know I wouldn't miss out on another glorious round of Drule-killing."

"Lance—"

"Let him go, Keith," Sven whispered, not that it really mattered. The red-suited pilot was already gone.

Stopping, their commander looked to Pidge and Hunk. Something flickered through his pale eyes, a crackle of lightning, then it vanished. It meant a decision had been made... a snap decision, but one that was absolute. "Okay, how about this. You two head for the workshop. Black Lion's still holed up in there, it'll be the easiest to work with. We all know you're both dying to start running diagnostics."

Pidge smirked. "Glad you noticed."

"I'll meet you there in a few minutes and fire Black up to play guinea pig for you. We'll take an hour or so to settle down and see what these things are made of, then start planning for combat."

The two engineers nodded, then broke into a run, throwing all dignity to the wind in the race to reach the fascinating spacecraft first. Sven couldn't help a slight chuckle.

"They're adorable when they're excited."

"Adorable." Keith laughed as well. "I don't believe you just used that word."

And there went the English again. "Was it wrong?"

"No."

"Oh."

They were both quiet for a minute, standing alone in the hallway, Keith tugging uncomfortably at his dark bracers. Then he smiled faintly. "So Lance thinks I need to figure out fashion. Here's my first stab at it, blue suits you a lot better than him."

"I don't know how to take that."

"I think the best way is to forget I said it." Keith's smile vanished in an instant. "Lance isn't okay."

"No, he's not. I'll take care of it."

"You'll take care of it?"

"Yes. I've been meaning to talk to him for awhile, honestly."

Keith nodded slowly. "I... _I_ should talk to him, Sven. It's my job."

"You can't do everything, Keith."

His friend met his gaze, tentatively. Keith was a good commander, but his weakness had always been trust. Not trusting his friends with his thoughts. No, he could do that when called upon. Not trusting his squadmates to have his back. That was implicit. Trusting that anything could get done without his personal attention, though... that was beyond him. Keith did not delegate. He had to see it himself.

If Sven were a little less confident, if he'd understood his commander a little less well, he would have found that fact thoroughly insulting. As it was he just found it...

Sad.

"I _should_ be able to do everything," Keith sighed.

"No you shouldn't."

To his surprise, the other pilot nodded. "I know. I'm sorry. Go on, Sven... I promised to help Pidge and Hunk geek out, and they'll kill me if I keep them waiting." He grinned. "I'm good now."

_You can fake it, anyway._ Sven nodded and turned away. When Keith wanted to talk, Keith would show up and talk. Whereas Lance...

You kind of had to club Lance over the head if you wanted to show concern for him.

The castle was silent, eerie. Every time he turned a corner Sven half expected to see a ghost coming at him from the other direction. Ghosts... he'd had nightmares about ghosts. Ghosts with piercing eyes, blacker and more infinite than the all-devouring darkness of the galactic core...

After all the team had gone through on Doom, he couldn't help feeling mildly irritated that it was a _ghost_ giving him the creeps. King Alfor was on their side. He was not to be feared. But it was not the dead king himself who sent shudders down Sven's spine.

Trying to imagine... falling in battle, but existing in spirit to see the aftermath. Watching helplessly as alien warriors tried to save a world that wasn't theirs, and uphold a mission that none of the living fully understood. The darkness should be the darkness. Ghosts should not have to see the world without them; such a fate seemed far more cruel than mere death.

His thoughts were mercifully cut short when he found a slender form in a leather jacket standing on one of the observation decks.

Lance was staring up at the volcano. "Shield volcano," he identified it as Sven walked up. "They can erupt for years at a time, and it must be in one of those cycles now. That's why the lava's able to stay exposed like that. Just keeps coming. It's called an effusive eruption."

Sven nodded. Lance wasn't stupid; he'd thrown himself into all his studies, even the most unpleasant electives, with the same fervor he showed for piloting. Or Drule-killing. But whatever knowledge he'd gained from all that he usually preferred to keep to himself... explanation and exposition were left to others, because he had better things to do.

He was definitely not okay.

"You didn't come out here for a lecture on geology," Lance guessed after a few moments.

"No, not really."

"You're probably also not here to tell me there's an incoming attack and I need to get to my lion right now."

"No, not that either."

"You came to ask how I'm doing, because you aren't convinced by how much I've been appearing to enjoy killing Drules so far."

"You got it."

Lance sighed, turned to face him, and leaned back against the railing, draping his arms over the edge. "And you're not going to tell Keith anything I may or may not tell you, because he'd freak out and worry about silly little things like codes of honor and my mental health. Whereas you don't care as long as I'm functional."

Flinch. "What did I do to deserve that?"

"Wasn't a criticism. You know what I think about this touchy-feely stuff."

Ah. Right. There was that. "On your own time, anyway." He remembered an aurora-lit night in Norway, where a visceral fear of colored flame in the sky had driven Lance to get very 'touchy-feely' indeed, but saw no need to drive the point in further.

His friend gave him a sharp look, but then grinned and offered a salute. "Touche."

"So." Sven crossed his arms. "What's going on that would have Keith worrying about your mental health?" A wicked flicker in Lance's eyes and he added quickly, "More than he usually does."

"Oh, come on. We're having this conversation, you at least could've given me the easy joke." With another sigh, Lance turned his gaze on the floor. "I just thought... I thought that killing them would make me feel better. I have a _purpose_, I'm not just getting off on watching blue-skinned monsters bleed." He clenched his fists. "I won't stop. I won't stop until every single one of them is punished. But it's not what I expected. Not what I hoped for."

Once the admission was out there, Sven found himself with a slight problem. This was precisely what he'd come out here to deal with, and he abruptly realized he had no idea how to go about it. The hard part was supposed to be getting Lance to talk. Answers would just come naturally.

Except they weren't.

He would have to wing it. Not something he was comfortable with, but that was really only fair at this stage. And all he could do was try to put things in his own context. "It's probably just as well you don't enjoy the actual killing. There's nothing good down that path." He did not make eye contact. "Lance... the people you're fighting for... would they be proud of you?"

"Proud?" A startled look. "I, um... I never really thought about it that way." He paused. "I don't know, Sven. I'd like to think they'd be happy, knowing they've been avenged. I'd like to think they'd feel better knowing that at least _some_ Drules can't threaten innocent people anymore. But proud..." The pilot turned a rare, pensive look to the floor. "I don't know if what I'm doing is something to be proud of. It's just something I have to do."

Sven nodded and wished he could say he understood. "Lance... look at me." He reached out and touched Lance's arm, waiting until his friend's eyes lifted. The ever-present spark in them had dimmed, smoldering, wavering on that boundary between surging back into flame and being utterly extinguished. There was something terrifying about that thought. "Are you going to be okay?"

"If I say yes, will you believe me?"

"No."

Lance smiled weakly, put a hand on his shoulder. His grip was like iron. "Do you remember when Keith first found out we knew each other?"

Sven hesitated. That had come out of nowhere. "What, you mean the time you called me a coward and I threatened to break every bone in your body? The time he probably saved your life?"

"Yeah." The other warrior actually laughed. "Do you remember _why_ I called you a coward?"

Another hesitation. Longer this time. He didn't... hard as it was to admit, he truly didn't. All he remembered was the insult, the retaliation, Keith barging in and throwing them apart before either could do something they'd regret. "No," he admitted softly.

"I told you I didn't understand how you could see learning to kill those blue-skinned bastards as such a _chore_... and you said it was because you didn't want to kill anybody." He was still laughing. Almost manic. "I understand now, Sven. I understand. Killing them doesn't help anything, does it? It doesn't solve anything at all!"

"Lance..."

Lance's gaze hardened. The laughter stopped. Almost like flipping a switch. "Promise you won't let me go too far, Sven. _Promise_. I don't want to hear about ethics or sanity... I just want to stay who I am."

_Help you stay who you are? _It hit him harder than he could've imagined. _I can do that... but who you are is falling apart_. He didn't voice it. Not here, not yet. They could deal with that when the danger was a little less imminent. For now...

"I promise."

As they stood there in silence, watching the volcano again, Sven found himself wondering who else might be falling apart.

Would he even know if he was next?

* * *

><p>"Amazing."<p>

Hunk was pacing around behind Black Lion, which was crouched in the clearing before the castle. Pidge stood a little further back; he'd dragged half the diagnostic units out of the workshop and seemed to be watching all of them at once. "Hit those left shoulder cannons again."

Keith was in the cockpit, obediently pushing buttons when asked, and at the request he sent another rocket roaring into the sky. A second later he followed it up with a glowing spear of energy from the same mount. The rocket exploded a few hundred feet in the air, while the spear sailed on a much lower trajectory and sheared the tops off a few trees before dissipating.

_Shame we don't have any actual targets to shoot for_.

It was Keith's first time in his own lion, and he was amazed at the familiarity—his brief time in Red Lion had evoked nothing like this. Perhaps it was partly because they were testing the weapons. Perhaps it wasn't.

"I don't believe it." Pidge shook his head. "I'm staring right at it and I still don't believe it."

"I know, little buddy. Never dreamed we'd find one of these that worked."

"It's pure genius."

"I know!"

The commander frowned. "You guys going to tell me what you're talking about at some point?"

"Sorry. It's a hardpoint system," Hunk explained. "Multiple weapon systems linked to a single point on the lion, phasing in and out as needed."

"Mainstream Alliance engineering has been theorizing about this for decades," the smaller engineer added. "But it's never been anything but a theory. My monitors are getting energy spikes and not much else when they activate... this has got to be way high on the mystical side of technomysticism."

A squeak. Cheddar was sitting on Keith's shoulder with several cables running from its tail to Black Lion's consoles, and until that moment it had been silent.

"What's wrong, little guy?"

Several more squeaks. Words appeared on an auxiliary monitor. **Detecting transmission from castle. Coran is wanting to talk.**

The castle's comms were a bit of a mess—only the laser systems were working consistently, and those required line of sight. Keith nodded and took his lion into the air a bit. "Coran?"

"Can you hear me, Lieutenant?"

"Loud and clear."

"The Drules have returned. They're inbound at the southern pole again."

_Ahead of schedule_. Keith's eyes narrowed. "Force count?"

"It's a much larger fleet, but we don't have any solid readings. Sven and Lance are on their way out already."

"Got it." Keith switched frequencies. "Hunk, Pidge, suit up. We've got some company that needs an escort right back off-world."


	12. Beginner's Luck

**Arusian Crusade: Deployment**  
>Chapter 11: Beginner's Luck<p>

_Remember Romelle's "Sven held off a robeast long enough for the rest of the Voltron Force to save the planet" story that never actually happened? That always seemed like a shame._

* * *

><p>Getting Black Lion moving only doubled the sense of familiarity. It was incredible, almost... shaking his head, feeling silly for even thinking it, Keith couldn't seem to come up with a word better than <em>transcendent<em>. He'd been wondering, their last time out, how the big engineer who was usually their worst raw pilot had been able to pull off such fluid, easy maneuvers. Now he knew.

It wasn't just that he'd been training in this craft for months. It was more like he'd been waiting his whole life to fly it.

Destiny. Alfor's ghost had spoken of destiny... he shook it off. Questions about destiny could wait. They had a battle to win.

Blue and Red Lions emerged from their dens to take up positions next to him, with Yellow and Green joining them soon after. Cheddar—who after all hadn't had any time to vacate the cockpit after the Drules were detected—wrapped its tail around a latch on one of Black Lion's side consoles, staring at Keith with fiercely glowing eyes. "I hope you make a good copilot," he mumbled to the rodent, then opened his main comms. "Everyone ready?"

"Oh yes."

"Born ready."

Cheddar squeaked.

The Yazata province, where the Castle of the Elements stood, was in the northern hemisphere of Arus. The Drules kept coming in at the south, which seemed like a wise tactical choice. There wasn't even a landmass at the southern pole, it would make a defensive ambush rather difficult to set up. But it also meant the defenders had plenty of warning.

Commander Cossack seemed to be quite competent; this time he would have come prepared. Very prepared.

"Got them on sensors," Sven reported softly. "Thirteen capital ships. No fighter coverage yet."

_Thirteen?_ Yeah, that was prepared.

"Looks like they left all the old fleet but the command ship at home," Pidge observed. "You decide if that's good or bad."

"Any readings on the new stuff?"

"Yeah, funny thing... these lions may have elemental powers and the ability to combine into a mythological being, but they are _not_ equipped with IFF scanners. Hunk, put that on our to-do list."

"You got it."

_Guess we've got to eyeball it, then_. Fortunately, Keith's study of Drule ship models had been pretty thorough. He studied the incoming fleet, making a mental inventory of what they had to deal with, transmitting identification tags to the rest of the team as he went.

The _Ebon Flame_ itself held no surprises. It was a Jentilak-class dreadnought, entirely standard, even a little outdated. And while it would be formidable if it entered combat, no commander with any sense would commit the jewel of his fleet—not to mention his own hide—to battle with such a poorly understood foe.

Not initially, anyway.

Most of the rest of the fleet was composed of destroyers. Four were Abraxas-class, the same swift and durable model as the _Black Hammer_ which had brought them to Arus to begin with. The other half-dozen were Skelmis-class, the workhorse ship of the Ninth Kingdom's fleet. Dangerous, very dangerous, but unimpressive.

The two ships flanking the _Ebon Flame_, however, were impressive.

"...My God, they've sent Aleaxes."

Nobody else seemed as impressed as he was. Pidge finally spoke up with, "That's not a word, Keith."

He scowled. "Aleax-class battlecruisers. Designed to deal with non-capital ships. You know, like us. Heavy armor, tons of light weaponry... they're the newest and most advanced ship in the Supremacy. The Alliance can't even prove they _exist_. To send two of them after us they've got to—"

"Uh, Keith. This is all very fascinating, but I think we've got bigger problems than alien axes."

Biting his tongue to stop from calling Lance something unpleasant, the commander turned Black Lion to face where Red was looking. And his eyes widened. _Oh... yeah. Yeah, we probably do_. Something small and dark was streaking through the sky. Small, but getting larger by the second, breaking up in midair until it completely shredded itself to reveal its contents. A gray-brown titan of pure muscle and steel... armored with twisted spikes, shoulders sporting thin winglike membranes, clawed hands clutching a broadsword the size of a building.

The robeast landed in a crouch, fixed glowing crimson eyes on the lions, and howled a challenge.

"Well." Hunk was the the first to speak. "He's kinda ugly."

"Let's make him kinda dead," Lance suggested.

"I hear that."

* * *

><p>Cossack bared his fangs slightly, pleased, as the lions recoiled from the snarling robeast. <em>Five<em> lions now. Five lions for five humans... he was annoyed he hadn't seen that coming, but it was a minor inconvenience at best. "Rip them apart, Strigoi. We'll take their heads back to Korrinoth as a warning to the rest of the galaxy."

The beast's peculiar wolf-howl of a voice filtered back, speaking in the rough tongue known as Low Drulik, the only language robeasts could grasp. "They break. They all break. They die. They all die!"

"Just so." Strigoi was an emphatic beast, eager for blood and eager to please. Almost endearing, by the standards of such monstrosities. Cossack actually hadn't worked with all that many robeasts before. It never failed to surprise him how creatures forged to be perfect weapons could still display so much personality. Habit, perhaps.

No matter, really. As long as they fought... as long as they killed.

Telzar looked up from his monitor. "Sir. We're detecting life signs on deep scans. Two major concentrations within range. Orders?"

_So the survivors scurry about underground like the vermin they are. Fair enough_. Cossack studied the lions, which were moving into a loose formation around the robeast. Good tactics. Without knowing the full capabilities of the lion craft, he wouldn't even have been prepared to bet on the outcome of this battle. The slaves had defeated a robeast in the arena. They may yet defeat one here.

But only if they were together.

"Split the fleet," he ordered coolly. "Strigoi, move on to the original target. The _Brutality_ and its destroyer wing will take the western life signs, and the _Humility_'s wing will take to the south. Leave nothing alive. Set the earth itself aflame if you must!"

"Aye, Commander." His aide relayed the orders, and the mighty Aleax warships on either side of his dreadnought fired their engines with a roar.

Cossack sat back in his command chair. "The _Ebon Flame_ will remain in place and observe, for the moment. We will test these beasts... see where their priorities lie... and crush them."

* * *

><p>"Where are they going?"<p>

"Tapping their comms." Green Lion's eyes glowed white as it stared at the dispersing warships, and nobody even bothered asking where Pidge had learned to do that. "...Oh, damn. They're tracking survivors."

Red Lion's head snapped up, spewing flame at one of the departing destroyers, though the attack fell far short of its mark. "Then let's go stop them. _Now_."

"We can't do that," Keith countered. "We've got our hands full down here."

Hunk already had his lion hovering, head raised toward the Drule armada. "Come _on_, Keith. We came here to protect these people, we can't just let 'em get bombed into the dust again!"

"I know that." Frustration hung heavily in the commander's words. "But we can't just leave that robeast to level the castle, either! And we need all five lions here to have a chance."

Sven's eyes narrowed as the others argued, keeping his own lion's gaze fixed on the robeast. It had landed near the eastern coast, where a river sourced from Blue Lion's lake fed into the Arusian ocean... Keith was right, they were much too near the castle to just leave the robeast alone. But a plan was starting to take shape in his mind.

"Let's get it into the water."

"Huh? Why?" Lance came up beside him. "Do robeasts not operate in water? Because Red sure as hell doesn't."

"Maybe not, but Blue does. Get it in the ocean and I think I can hold it long enough for you four to take those ships out."

"No." Keith's voice was firm, his very best command tone. "That's suicidal. Absolutely not."

"I don't think we have a choice."

"Sven, _listen_ to yourself! You're suggesting taking on a robeast. Alone!"

Sven sighed. He really preferred not to contradict his commander's orders in front of everyone, but there was no time for this nonsense. He opened a private channel. "You can't babysit all of us all the time, Keith! Give me a better idea or I'm going to try to push it in myself."

Dead silence. Sven was very glad he hadn't opened a video link; conventional wisdom said looks couldn't kill, but he had no doubt Keith was doing his best. Finally, "I appreciate you not putting that on the main channel, Sergeant Holgersson. You are released to engage."

_Sergeant Holgersson? Ouch_.

He shook it off; Keith would get over it later. Right now they had a planet to save.

Robeasts weren't known for their tactical ability. They were the Supremacy's brute force, meant to crush through defenses and strike fear into the enemy, and they performed those tasks well... but there was a problem. They were recruited from the arena, and honed their skills further in the arena, and were conditioned to that gladiatorial combat.

_Single_ combat.

With four lions scattering, and one walking up and firing a laser into its face, the robeast wasn't going to stop to wonder what the fleeing craft were up to. It turned on Blue Lion, roared its fury at the insult, and charged.

Leaping away from the first charge Sven turned his back to the water, and his lion roared its own challenge to the hulking creature. It howled back in response. _Go on, whine about it all you want. Won't change a thing._

This time when the monster charged he didn't move aside. He jumped back, flicking Blue Lion's tail up to fire a burst of freezing energy which cemented the robeast's sword to its hand with ice. The creature slammed the weapon on the ground, shattering the frozen bonds, then broke into a sprint as the lion craft retreated.

Into the water.

Sven allowed himself the faintest smirk of triumph as the beast followed. _Mission halfway accomplished._

* * *

><p><em>If he doesn't die I'm going to kill him.<em>

Keith was still seething as they parted ways with Blue Lion, and had to put more effort than he would've expected into forcing it down. He counted on Sven to back him... to be there for him no matter what. For his second to pull a Lance on him _now_ was miserably grating.

But there was no use dwelling on it now. Time to make the most of the situation he'd been forced into.

"Right then. Lance, with me, we're taking the west. Pidge, Hunk, to the south. The dreadnought doesn't look interested in engaging us so let's not give it any reason to, got it?"

"Got it," the other three confirmed quickly. Perhaps too quickly. Nobody wanted to give their commander an excuse to take out his annoyance on them, and that was probably wise.

If there was anything Lance hated more than Drules, it was Drules attempting to kill civilians, so it didn't really surprise Keith all that much when Red Lion shot ahead of him, breathing flame over the nearest destroyer. It was an Abraxas, and he decided to at least try to use some semblance of tactics in this fight. "Lance, you can leave the Abraxases for last. They're fast and tough, but don't have a whole lot of weaponry."

"It's just in my way," Lance muttered in response. "I'm gonna hit the alley yaks."

Now he was doing it on purpose. But the theory was sound; the Aleax was by far the biggest threat. "Okay. Concentrate fire."

"I've got plenty of fire to go around." Red's jaws snapped open and a much larger gout of flame melted two weapon ports clean off the Abraxas, then a flurry of lasers stabbed into the molten scar. Just for good measure Lance raked his claws over the softened armor as well, leaving a glowing hole behind.

The stricken destroyer returned fire, scoring with two lasers, missing with quite a bit more than that. One small mercy was that the _Ebon Flame_ had apparently not replenished its fighter contingent, so they only had the capital ships to worry about, and as the lions darted through the Drule fleet the destroyers kept getting in each others' way.

Suddenly the Aleax was looming before them.

"Infidel craft," a female voice sneered over their comms, "I am Captain Tairen of the battlecruiser _Brutality_." The message cut off as the warship launched a flight of several dozen missiles into Red Lion's side, knocking it off course and nearly crashing into a Skelmis coming up at their backs.

Keith frowned, fighting for control against the shock waves as Cheddar squealed a protest. "Did you want to chat, Captain Tairen?"

"No. I merely wish you to know the name of your vanquisher!"

Lance snorted, cutting under the Skelmis and sinking his lion's fangs deep into the belly of the ship, ripping a chunk of armor out and throwing it at the Aleax. "I don't think introducing _yourself_ has anything to do with that, actually."

"You think you're clever, don't you?"

"Well, someone's got to." Red switched from open comms to a channel with Black. "Paint me a target, chief."

Nodding to himself, Keith activated his lion's spear cannons and launched two of the glowing projectiles into the _Brutality_'s bow. The weapon's secondary firing mode lit up, and against his better judgment he went ahead and triggered it.

Lightning crackled between Black Lion and the harpoons stuck in the battlecruiser's front, and his monitors showed some of the Drule ship's systems briefly going dark. "Not bad."

"Not bad at all," Lance agreed, swooping in with lasers and missiles blazing at the same location. A whole armor plate literally evaporated under the assault, but the warship had plenty more to give. "But I say we go for the more direct approach. Where's the bridge on this thing?"

"No idea."

"Oh come on, Keith, you're the expert and that's a kind of major detail."

"I told you, the Alliance can't even confirm these ships are in production. You surely don't think we have full schematics on them?"

"Okay, then let's _find_ the bridge."

Easier said than done. Except... Keith hesitated. "Lance, talk to her."

"Uh. You know I usually wouldn't argue with that, but this is a combat situation, not a bar."

"If we can get her yelling back at you I think we can trace the location of the comm signal." As he was speaking Keith had moved back and snapped Black Lion's tail at a second Abraxas which was coming too close for comfort. Electric bolts showered across the destroyer's rear quadrant, silencing weapons and dimming the ship's engines. _These aren't EMP shielded_, he realized abruptly. The Drules could counter the Alliance's most sophisticated electronic warfare tools, but it seemed they'd neglected good old-fashioned shock resistance.

And here he was piloting a lightning elemental.

Whirling on the stunned Abraxas he fired his frontal cannon, bathing the destroyer in crackling light until it shuddered and the engines completely gave out. He almost even let himself feel confident, but a stream of tracer rounds from the Aleax changed his mind. "Oh, hell." Explosive slugs carved across Black Lion's neck and upper back, and if it weren't for the crimson wings folded there, Keith was pretty sure he would've had a hull breach.

Cheddar clicked indignantly. **Be more careful!**

Cutting off an equally indignant remark about how he didn't need a robot mouse as a backseat driver, Keith supposed he couldn't really argue when the point was sound. Staying still for that long _had_ been a pretty bad move. "Lance?"

"Yeah, I've been holding a nice conversation while you've been having all the fun. Captain Tairen would like me to burn in a coward's hell, thinks Red Lion's head would look great on a pike, and is not amenable to going out for drinks once the battle's over," Lance said cheerfully. "Oh, and I found the bridge. Can I do the honors?"

"Alone?"

"Of course alone!"

Truthfully he didn't like the sound of that, but Red Lion was way ahead of him already. With a snarl the fire-infused craft clamped down on the battlecruiser's spine, alternately breathing flame and ripping softened armor off the hull. The Aleax's turrets began shifting, trying to track a target much closer than they were designed for, managing to melt wide swaths of armor off Red Lion's face and legs. Lance ignored the blasts, focused on burrowing into the armor more methodically than Keith had ever seen his friend move.

A Skelmis that had previously been blocked by the recently-fallen Abraxas moved forward, orienting on the lion ripping into its command ship. "Lance, watch your back!"

"Oh, I see it."

The centerpiece of the Skelmis was a pair of heavy naval railguns. The Alliance had learned the hard way that the ship was more than a match for much larger vessels, and most commanders listed the sleek destroyer as the most dangerous unit the Drules could field other than their iconic robeasts. With Red Lion remaining so still, this particular Skelmis seemed quite unable to resist the temptation to take a shot with such fearsome weapons.

Keith realized what was going to happen an instant before the railguns fired. Red Lion, which had been practically begging for such an easy shot, was gone quicker than ought to have been possible... and the heavy slugs punched straight through the Aleax's weakened armor, crushing the bridge, moving on to rip through engines and life support systems before the armor on the ship's other side halted their progress.

With a whine from its fading plasma cells, the _Brutality_ slowly toppled from the sky.

* * *

><p>Blue Lion cut through the sea as easily as through open air, if not more so. Sven cast a quick look at his rear monitors. The robeast was storming after him, utterly failing to match his craft's grace, but making up for the lack with raw power as it parted the water before it. Every once in awhile it swung the massive sword in its hands, sending a shuddering current that knocked him off course for a moment, but whatever other weapons the robeast had seemed not to be functional in the water.<p>

Still it followed. Stupid beast.

The further they moved along the ocean floor—how deep were they? He'd lost all sense of scale once the light started fading—the slower the robeast became. As expected. As it should be. He could hear the lion's hull creaking around him, but knew by some instinct that it was routine pressurization, not a concern. He could keep this up forever. His adversary could not.

And Keith had been worried... to drive the point home, if only to himself, he took a few potshots at the robeast with the laser in Blue Lion's tail. The scar it left across the beast's arm was more insult than injury, but he was happy with insult right now. He had this. Of _course_ he had this. If he could handle navigating Lance's minefields and Keith's uncertainty, he could surely handle a little swim with an ugly, stupid brute of a war cyborg.

It would really be best not to take his commander's doubts personally. And yet... as the water around him continued to grow darker, Sven's thoughts were taking a similar turn.

He had _always_ played this role. Protecting his two best friends from each other, or more often, from themselves. Sure, he and Lance had their own arguments on occasion, but whenever things got serious he could push everything aside. Grab those two and force them to stay grounded, no matter what seemed to be falling apart.

Ever since he'd met them, let them calm him from the silent but volatile specter who'd nearly killed Lance over an insult, his own sanity had depended on those two keeping it together. And while the addition of Pidge and Hunk to the team had given him new pillars of strength to latch onto, they were not yet bound so tightly. He couldn't be like them, finding solace in workshops or wiring. Keith and Lance were still his main anchors.

He needed them. And he believed in them.

So why couldn't Keith... Keith, who always looked to him when in doubt... Keith, who had made him his second in command without a thought... why couldn't Keith believe in him, just _once? _

This wasn't suicidal. This was easy. More than that, it was obvious. But if Keith wouldn't even let him try to ease Lance's mind, the sort of thing he specialized in, without a protest, trusting the quiet navigator to pull _combat_ off correctly was probably asking far too much. After all, Sven was only a reluctant warrior at best.

What more did he have to do to prove himself? Why wouldn't his commander _let_ him prove himself without fighting it? Did he somehow not understand how much Sven needed to prove his worth to this team?

Gritting his teeth against several expletives that were trying to slip out, it took him a moment to realize the robeast was no longer following him. Not directly.

"Where do you think you're going?" he murmured as the monster began to swim upwards. "I don't recall saying we were finished here." Wrenching Blue Lion around he fired a spread of torpedoes—nothing said water elemental like _torpedoes—_at the robeast's broad back, scoring several direct hits but barely even meriting a glance.

Well then. _You'd best not mess this up after getting all so damned _indignant_ about it, Sergeant Holgersson_. Firing another round of torpedoes he gave chase, wondering what the ridiculous thing thought it was doing.

Could robeasts fly? Not most of them. Could this one? It did have wings, sort of, but he had to wonder what had taken so long if it were that simple... when it broke the surface of the water, he got his answer. It couldn't fly. Not exactly. But it could _hover_, generating a shimmering field of sorcery around itself, orienting on Blue Lion and opening fire with plasma cannons on its wrists.

He darted to the side, just barely evading the blasts, and retaliated with his elemental cannon, coating the robeast's left side with ice. Roaring a high-pitched howl of defiance the beast shook off the frost, gathered itself, and lunged with its sword crashing wildly down in the general direction of its tormentor.

The blade scraped down the side of Blue Lion's face. Just barely. Just enough to leave a faint scratch in the armor. But that was more than enough to convince its pilot he wanted no part of this battle. _A few more inches and... don't do anything stupid. Survive this and you've already exceeded expectations. Do. Not. Fail._

Sensing weakness, perhaps, the robeast oriented for another strike.

"No you don't. My element, my rules." Eyes narrowed, Sven pulled his lion into a graceful dive and vanished again beneath the water. "Now come and get me."

This time it didn't follow, though he could still see its shadow above the water, taking shots at him with its wrist cannons which caused the water to boil away briefly. But shallowly. The plasma could not pierce deep enough to even reach him, let alone be a credible threat. He supposed they could keep this ridiculous dance up indefinitely, though something about playing the role of _fish in a barrel_ was terribly grating.

The blasts stopped.

"Smartest thing you've done all day," he mumbled to the presence that still hovered menacingly above him. "Now how about you get back down here?" It did not oblige him, not that he'd really expected it to. But he was becoming uneasy. The beast wasn't moving at all, or at least, the dark blob that signified its presence on the surface was barely flickering. What could it possibly be doing?

It came so quickly he barely had time to comprehend it. Blinding light poured into the ocean, as if the entire sky above had been set ablaze, and the water exploded into an immense plume of steam as a plasma field larger than the robeast itself slammed against the surface.

Alarms were shrieking everywhere; pretty much his entire outer layer of armor had just been scorched off in an instant. Slapping at the consoles, silencing the noise, he focused on the main diagnostic monitors long enough to reassure himself that nothing had been breached. The lion had plenty of armor yet. More worrying was the fact that his sensors were not recovering. The robeast could be right on top of him and he wouldn't have the slightest...

_Move!_

He saw nothing. Heard nothing. It was pure intuition that made him lurch Blue Lion hard to the left, with perhaps half a second to spare. The robeast had thrown its sword, and while the blade ripped through the lion's right flank, it missed the cockpit which it would otherwise have impaled quite cleanly.

This time the alarms were not superficial. Not that Sven had much time to worry about that as the lion's pain seemed to feed back into his body... fighting for control, fighting for consciousness, he failed both battles in a matter of seconds.

The water crashed back into the void it had so briefly vacated, covering the fallen lion with a shield of waves and darkness.

* * *

><p>The original idea had been to take down the destroyers first. Isolate the Aleax, then use the lions' superior maneuverability to hit its weak points. Assuming it had some weak points. But everything had a weak point, and Hunk was good at finding them, and Pidge could follow instructions. So the original plan had been sound.<p>

Unfortunately, that old adage about plans not surviving contact with the enemy was still entirely accurate. Which was why Pidge suddenly found himself and his wingman on the losing end of the battle as the destroyers were terribly uncooperative about staying still and being hit. The Aleax led its formation well, relegating the smaller ships to support duty, raking the lions with missiles and lasers as they struggled for a shot.

"I'm goin' for the engines, cover me!"

"On your back."

Two cannon ports opened and spat a stream of metal and tracers, and Yellow Lion crashed to the ground with enough force to leave a crater in the earth.

"Hunk!"

"I'm good, little buddy. I'm... oof." Struggling to rise, the fallen craft looked up to see the Aleax orienting for another full barrage. "Uh oh."

For Pidge, the world seemed to slow to almost a standstill. Just for a moment as he saw the warship's weapons begin to glow. _No_. Green Lion whirled, lunging into action. This would not... this was not the way it would end.

The strike scoured armor from Yellow's left side, nearly snapping its weakened hind leg off in the process. It came to rest several hundred feet away, bleeding oil and coolant fluid over the desert, growling softly as it struggled to stand. The damage was bad... but could have been much, much worse. It was not the Aleax that had struck.

The battlecruiser's weapons fired moments after Green Lion pushed its comrade out of the way, melting Yellow Lion's original impact crater into a shimmering field of glass.

"Get up, Hunk." Pidge's voice was soft, deadly, as he realized what had nearly happened to his dearest friend. "Get up. We're gonna kill this thing. And we're gonna kill it so hard that it and all its friends wish they'd never heard of Arus."

"I'm with ya, little buddy." Yellow stood, shaking off the damage. "But I hope you've got a plan, cuz Yellow isn't gonna be flying for a few minutes. Field repair systems are running."

The Aleax seemed intent on pressing its advantage; its destroyer escorts had pulled back, allowing their lead ship open fields of fire at the two lion craft. Pidge's eyes narrowed as he studied the battlecruiser. It was every bit as formidable as Keith had been warning them... sure, the way it had just shredded Yellow Lion was part of it, but the damned thing even _looked_ deadly. It was nothing but bristling spikes and weapon ports, all centered around...

..._Wait, that's it_. Though it _was_ light on capital weapons, the centerpiece of the Aleax was a warship-grade missile launcher.

As the Drule ship centered on Yellow Lion again, Green Lion sprang into the air and blocked its path with a roar. Two probing laser strikes which had been intended for Hunk hit him instead, but he wasn't too concerned. Not yet. He was in decent shape. The battlecruiser attempted to move, angling for a new shot at its fallen opponent; with a defiant snarl Green Lion moved to remain in its path. "Hunk, stay behind me."

"You can't just take the hits either, Pidge!"

"Do you trust me?"

"Duh."

"Then stay behind me!"

His comms crackled. "I am Captain Dalmar of the battlecruiser _Humility_. I honor your courage, little green lion. I shall kill you first, as you desire."

_Humility? Great name. Let's teach him the definition._

"Pidge..."

"I've got this." His eyes narrowed, focusing in on the missile launcher. Drules didn't really do subtlety, and they didn't tend to pull punches. As long as he stayed still... _yes_. An alarm in his cockpit began to shriek a warning of a weapons lock. A _capital_ weapons lock.

Green Lion opened its jaws and unleashed a cyclone against the enemy ship's central weapon. As his sensors screamed about the impending launch he quietly ignored them, rerouting power from his engines into the frontal cannon until the raging whirlwind could have easily twisted steel... but that wasn't his goal. Punching a hole in the Aleax would actually accomplish very little.

Lasers raked across his hull, but he ignored them. Unimportant. As long as the winds remained active he had this, and he wasn't going to move.

A warhead nearly as large as Green Lion itself became visible in the blackness of the warship's weapon bay, and when it hit open air it simply _stopped_. The propelling flames continued down the launch track, and just to be sure, Pidge took a shot with the heavy turret on his lion's back, piercing the missile as it was locked into place by the whirlwind.

The missile detonated.

To ensure that the weapons—which were, after all, sort of important—were not the weakest point on a ship, Drules tended to harden their offensive systems pretty drastically. The warhead's explosion did not breach the launcher. Instead, it blew backwards, venting all its explosive force on the ammunition storage at the heart of the Aleax.

The detonation was immense.

Unsurvivable.

As intended.

The shock wave from the battlecruiser's explosion drove Green Lion back several dozen feet. That was nothing compared to its effects on the destroyers at its side: the Abraxas on its left was knocked so far off course it lost control, plummeting to the Arusian surface, while the Skelmis at its right simply ceased to exist in a wash of uncontained energy.

"Humility," Pidge muttered coldly as he watched the ships disintegrate. "Learn it."

Yellow Lion stepped forward, roaring in triumph as the rest of the Drule fleet reversed course, fleeing the battlefield. "Don't ever let me question your combat decisions again, little buddy."

His icy smirk dissolved into a genuine smile. "I don't believe I _let_ you do that as it is. How're your flight systems doing?"

"All fixed. Let's get back to the others."

* * *

><p>It took a supreme effort for Cossack to restrain himself from hitting something. The consoles were the most likely victims, and they could be broken. Several underlings were also within range, but hitting those tended to have a poor effect on morale.<p>

What else was bad for morale? Losing both of the state-of-the-art battlecruisers that the Nyx garrison had protested mightily about handing over. At least the robeast seemed to have taken the blue lion out of the battle. Just went to show why robeasts were considered more effective weapons than warships, no matter how much larger and better-armed the warships might be.

Being the commander of such a ship himself, Cossack felt a stab to his pride at even thinking that way. But the signs were right there before him.

"All destroyers, this is Commander Cossack. Pull back and regroup at my position." There was no sense leaving the smaller ships to the mercy of the lions when the Aleaxes had fallen. "Strigoi, I am transmitting a new target location for you. Lure the remaining lions there."

The robeast sounded downright cheerful. "Lure the lions. Bring them to be slaughtered. Break and kill!"

"Exactly."

It wouldn't be the robeast doing the breaking and killing, Cossack decided. He would prove his own worth to this mission... the lions were rightly confident, foolishly arrogant, at the inability of the capital ships to pin them down so far. But they had not yet driven their foes to desperation.

Desperate men had far more options.

* * *

><p>Returning to the edge of the ocean, they found the robeast swimming back onto the beach, looking a bit roughed up but not in particularly bad shape. Pidge frowned, checking his sensors. No sign of Blue Lion... though that didn't mean a whole lot. The water would interfere with readings regardless, and with the damage to Green Lion, he wasn't sure he was ready to rely on his own instruments right now.<p>

Black and Red swooped in just behind him and Yellow, and they didn't look to have fared much better. "Pidge, Hunk, report!"

"We knocked out an Aleax and three destroyers. The others retreated. Green's a mess, but all systems functional."

"Yellow's flight is still a little glitchy, but I should be okay. The field repair systems on these lions are pretty thorough."

"Right." Black Lion landed on the beach and roared at the robeast, which howled in response. "Any sign of Sven?"

"Nothing."

Silence on Keith's side for a minute. Red Lion wasn't so calm; it flew out to hover above the ocean, firing its tail laser at the robeast as it passed. "Sven? Sven! C'mon, buddy... ugh, forget this, there's too much water. Couldn't hear him if he was trying to yell right back at me." A pause. "And I _know_ he's down there trying to yell back at me!"

"We fight without him as best we can." Keith's words were clipped, cold. "Lance, your armor's in the best shape, you take the lead."

"Can't argue with that." Red Lion turned, phasing a missile rack in on one shoulder and a rapidly-pulsing laser turret on the other, strafing the robeast and landing on the sand in front of the other three. "Oh look. I think I poked a hole in one of his wings." Sure enough, one of the crimson membranes on the robeast's shoulder was shredded and leaking purplish-red blood down its arm. "Eww... I'm not even sure I want to shoot it again."

"_Ebon Flame_'s moving in," Hunk warned, his words almost lost beneath the robeast's pained screech.

Suddenly the water behind the robeast was moving, churning madly. Pidge's eyes widened as a new icon appeared on his sensors. "Incoming contact from—" Before he could finish the report, Blue Lion erupted from the ocean with the robeast's sword clamped tightly in its jaws. "—the water!" The monster had just enough time to turn, taking the strike against its side rather than its back as the blade shattered on impact.

"Sven!"

"You don't need to sound so surprised," the other pilot grumbled as his lion dropped to the ground beside Lance. "I had that."

"Dude," Hunk admonished, "have you _seen_ yourself?" It took Pidge a moment to see what his friend was referring to, but reaching a different angle made it obvious. Oil and seawater were gushing out an enormous hole in Blue Lion's right side.

"I don't think I look any worse than the rest of you, honestly."

He probably had a point there. All five of the lions were a sorry sight. But they were still functional, and the wounded robeast was actually backing off... but _that_ wounded? Pidge didn't think so. "Um, I know I'm not really the tactics guy, but does a retreat really make sense here?"

"No." Keith's voice was soft. "It doesn't make sense at all unless... scatter!"

There were some times that nobody on the team would dream of questioning their commander, and an order like that was at the top of the list. Green Lion sprang backward, assuming nobody else would try to reverse out of reflex, and nearly ran into Red. _Whoops__. Should've figured on that._

In any case, all five lions successfully vacated the area they'd been gathered in a moment before. Just in time for an explosive shell from the _Ebon Flame_'s massive main gun to plow into the beach in a shuddering burst of flame.

_Oh crap._

"In the air!"

"Yeah, about that." Lance had taken flight before Keith even said anything, but Red Lion was flailing a hundred feet off the ground as if it had struck an invisible wall. "There's something... here..."

"Grav-wind field. It's the dreadnought's takeoff jets." Hunk had taken a few more steps back and was staring up at the Drule ship. "You realize how much force it takes to get one of those things off the ground? This guy's smart. No way we've got the juice to punch through."

"Well that's wonderful. What do we do about it?"

Black Lion swept its gaze over the terrain. Pidge was looking as well, and doubted he was seeing anything Keith didn't; they were boxed in at their backs by the mountains, and if they moved forward the robeast would cut them off. _And in the meantime we're sitting ducks down here_. As if to confirm his thoughts, the _Ebon Flame_ dropped a new volley of lasers on the beach, nearly taking off one of Blue's wings and leaving a searing scar across Yellow's hind legs.

Hunk's irritated hiss came across loud and clear as he pulled back. "Those jets aren't made for sustained firing. Ten minutes, tops."

"Great. So all we have to do is hold out for ten minutes against an orbital bombardment?" Lance sounded disgusted. "No problem."

* * *

><p>Pacing about her sanctum, Haggar drew the ritual circles carefully. Carefully imperfect. Most gods preferred precision in all things, but Sarga was the goddess of chaos. These wavering rings of emerald energy were harsh to look upon, aesthetically jarring. They would bring the Unfathomable One's favor.<p>

Kneeling in the center of the ragged pattern, she closed her eyes and drew her cloak tightly against her slim body. Waiting. She did not speak; there was no need to. Sarga would come if she found the invocation worthy.

She was there swiftly.

_I know what brings you to call upon me, little daughter. The void sees all, and the void has followed these threads of destiny which weave their way through the stars._

Haggar kept her eyes closed, though she felt the shadows swirling in front of her. She did not look upon the shrouded face of the goddess. "There is more to the blasphemy on Arus, then?"

_Far more. Do you wish me to tell you the truth so easily?_

"I come seeking only your wisdom. If revealing the truth pleases you, I will hear it."

The soft laughter of the goddess rang in her mind._ It is no wonder you have been the most prized of my children since before you were born. Haggar the Voidweaver, mightiest of the wyvern's line, your reverence pleases me. But the answers are not mine to give._

At that the witch's eyes flashed open, meeting the glowing green of the apparition before her. "I do not understand."

_Know this, then. The Destroyer has been invoked._

Of course. If the lions were blessed by the Unfathomable One's ancient nemesis, that would explain their forms and their power. And certainly why King Alfor would be confident enough to turn such symbols against them. But... she paused just before claiming to understand. "How can that be possible? He was vanquished, was he not?"

_Vanquished, yes. But the slumber of gods is not eternal, little daughter. Remember this. Remember this always!_

"Then the Destroyer has returned?"

_Not yet._

And yet it had been invoked? "I still... do not understand."

_You will._

* * *

><p>Allura stood before the monitors, clutching her warbow with one hand as if it were a lifeline, other hand clenched so tightly around an arrow it was a wonder she hadn't snapped the projectile in two. Or at least bent it a bit. None of that was any help. She couldn't fight. She was an observer, utterly helpless once more... but...<p>

"They need to form Voltron," she whispered.

Coran shook his head. "Under these conditions? Attempting the formation would be madness!"

"Madness, but maybe their only hope." Another blinding explosion clouded the monitor for a moment as the _Ebon Flame_ unleashed another volley on the lions. "They can do it. I _know_ they can do it. My father believed in them... and I believe."

"Perhaps you're right." The advisor's soft gold eyes focused on her. "But we have no way to contact them."

That was true. They were well outside the sight of the castle's laser comms, and nothing else was working consistently at any range, let alone how far distant the battlefield had become. Allura closed her eyes, her whole body tightening until it was painful. This would be a wonderful time to have access to the more _active_ mystic arts.

Hindsight was what it was.

A squeak beside her. The yellow-eyed mouse—what had they named it? Swiss, right—was peering up at her with concern. Chittering something about 'the boss' being gone. All the mice called Cheddar the boss. The little creatures had their own links to each other, and when one was missing they could all get quite distressed, but this hardly seemed the time...

Her eyes widened. "Swiss, where exactly _is_ Cheddar?"

"Sqwee-skrik."

Inside Black Lion.

* * *

><p>Out of pretty much absolutely nowhere, Cheddar gave a startled squeak and its eyes flickered for a moment, shifting from gray to yellow and back again. Clicking rapidly it darted over the consoles, finally perching in the translucent glass of one of Black Lion's eyes. Twitching and flickering and squeaking, it extended a small antenna from the tip of its tail.<p>

The whole thing was awfully distracting.

Keith frowned. "Hey! Calm down. Trying not to die here." Amusing as he might find the little rodents when they had some downtime, this was _no_ place for such antics. "Get out of my windshield, would you?"

Indignant squeaking. Words on the screen. **Is message from castle.**

_Oh. In that case..._ "I hope they've got some advice." As he spoke he jerked Black Lion back, just slightly too slow to fully avoid a missile impact that blasted apart a rock formation in front of him. The lion stumbled back, roaring.

**Form Voltron.**

If he were going to be perfectly honest, that was the last piece of advice Keith had expected to get from the castle. Well, maybe it was just one step more expected than 'roll over and die'. The thought had actually occurred to him already, but Coran's warning still rang clearly in his mind.

_The full formation has never been tested._

He'd promised to save it unless they got desperate, but they were surely at least pretty close to desperate by now. "We're looking that bad, huh?"

**Princess has other message.**

"Let's hear it."

**She believes.**

Keith blinked. _She believes_... for a moment he just sat in his cockpit, stunned by the words. They'd all seen the ruins of Arus. What did Allura have to believe in? What had they done to really deserve her trust?

Perhaps not much. Perhaps not yet. But he had sworn not to fail, and he intended to fulfill that oath no matter what.

_Alright. Let's do this. _Time to earn that faith she'd placed on their shoulders. "Okay, team. Enough games. We're going to send these guys packing."

"Does that mean what I think it means?"

"About time!"

Keith nodded. Perhaps it _was_ past time. "Everyone in formation. Engage omega protocols."

Black Lion led the team forward, the other lions falling into formation. Sparks were shooting around them, enveloping the craft in an energy field, and when the dreadnought took a new shot at them the plasma bolts dissipated as soon as they touched the barrier.

A good sign, but...

_Something's not right_. Red and Green Lions on either side of him seemed like they were trying to move in closer, to do something... Green clipped too close, struck his side, and fell out of formation with a roar. "Pidge! You okay?"

"Nothing hurt but my pride." He was up quickly. "Let's try it again."

"Right. Engage omega protocols, take two."

On Keith's right, Yellow fell out this time in a matter of moments. Off to his left Blue stumbled and went down as Sven failed to watch the terrain. At least they could solve that problem easily enough on a third try, but the fact remained...

"This isn't working." Green Lion had slowed to cover its fallen companions. "My cockpit's not even trying to move."

"Timing's off." Blue had regained its footing and was firing missiles at the oncoming robeast, just to give it something to think about. "These are more sensitive than the sims let on."

"Yeah, well the sims didn't let on that omega formation meant we all turned into one robot, either," Lance muttered. He'd managed to stay in formation so far, but his lion didn't seem to be at all interested in doing anything but running beside Black. Certainly it wasn't reconfiguring.

Keith nodded, sensing and sharing the team's frustration, but they couldn't give in. There had to be a way. If the timing was the problem, then maybe... "Okay, let's try this. Everyone off the ground. With me. We're going to take this step by step." He focused on his own controls, mentally listing the switches and levers which made up the omega protocols, waiting for the other lions to join him in flight.

"All here!" Hunk was the last in the air, hovering just short of the pressure waves the dreadnought was pouring down on them. "If we're gonna do this, now's the time."

Keith nodded. "Activate interlocks." Something was tugging at the back of his mind as he spoke. Something about this sequence. "Dynatherms connected." He didn't know where these names were coming from, he realized abruptly. He had no idea what a dynatherm even _was_. "Infracells up." No time for questioning it. It felt easy, it felt right... and perhaps most importantly, not a single one of the pilots under his command had asked what he was talking about. "Megathrusters are go!"

They knew. They _all_ knew. How? He didn't know and it didn't matter... but something whispered in his thoughts. A faint crackle of lightning. An instant of perfect, complete understanding.

He spoke and Black Lion roared with him, and the words echoed over his comms as the others did the same.

"Let's go, Voltron Force!"


	13. Moment of Binding

**Arusian Crusade: Deployment**  
>Chapter 12: Moment of Binding<p>

* * *

><p><em>Yellow Lion. <em>

_Heart of resolve. _

_Guardian of desert and mountain. _

_Awaken._

* * *

><p>Hunk had gotten very well acquainted with the earth. He'd tasted more dirt than those creepy kids on the playground who ate it for fun, and after some of the spills he'd taken in his life there was probably gravel still rattling around in his blood. But for all that, he couldn't bring himself to be angry. If he tried to muscle in on the strength of the earth, of <em>course<em> it would strike back. Bruises went with the territory.

Everything centered around that element... the earth, the rock, the soil. Without a solid foundation there could be nothing of consequence. And he'd always had that foundation as well, finding strength in those he cared for. Part of him still wondered how he'd gone from a plan to live on repair crews to an active combat assignment. But it didn't matter. He would fight. He would fight for his friends and for the family he'd left behind. And for the trillions of others he would never know, who needed a protector if they were to have a chance to live.

The air was pressing in on him, solid as if a mountain had caved into his cockpit. He pushed back against it, feeling that strength, knowing it was his to wield.

* * *

><p><em>Blue Lion. <em>

_Heart of serenity. _

_Guardian of tide and tundra. _

_Awaken._

* * *

><p>Sven had always been fascinated by water. There was something profound about the ocean, a realm that had once seemed as vast and mysterious as the stars it reflected. Always moving, always changing. And yet the sea itself did not move; its presence was a constant no matter how its waters might shift. Like the stars... forever shifting, yet forever predictable. So easy to understand, but impossible to truly grasp.<p>

Whatever questions he might have held about himself and his path, there had always been water, protecting the islands of his birth and flowing through the fjords of his home. At the academy, he had mostly gone to the cape to watch the ocean, not the stars. It had comforted him in the moments his duty seemed too much to bear. Reminded him that home was still out there, unchanged. Waiting for him to return... or perhaps to find it to begin with.

He closed his eyes, feeling the water flowing over him, as the confusion he'd been drowning in for what seemed like forever was washed away.

* * *

><p><em>Green Lion. <em>

_Heart of alacrity. _

_Guardian of gale and forest. _

_Awaken._

* * *

><p>Pidge had been born on a world of wind. Balto's atmosphere and rotation led to a chaotic climate, covered in cyclones and storms. The wind had carved that planet, howling through the trees and mountains, into the city streets which were often filled with nearly the same amount of chaos. It was a rough world, where the strong survived, where even the sky was a threat to be studied and tamed.<p>

He hadn't left Balto because his life was hard. He'd left in spite of it. The chaos, the challenge, the feel of overcoming all odds just to live another day—it was all beautiful. He'd lived as wild as the howling wind, and that freedom had been intoxicating. Yet to live so untamed and untameable was lonely... achingly lonely. So he'd let himself be taken from the streets. Turned his back on all that uncertainty and sought out a place where his skills could be put to use.

Yet the wind was still there with him, shrieking through his cockpit, and he smiled. This was it. This was where he belonged.

* * *

><p><em>Red Lion. <em>

_Heart of fervor. _

_Guardian of the burning depths. _

_Awaken._

* * *

><p>Lance's path had been forged in fire. Oh, he'd been by a lake when the stars began to move, and taken shelter in the water when the stars fell upon him. But all he remembered was the fire... the all-consuming funeral pyre that may not have stopped him from breathing, but most certainly had taken his life. He had been burning ever since that moment. Burning with rage, burning with hunger, burning with the knowledge that he would avenge the atrocity brought down on him.<p>

And yet... there was so much more to the fire. Despite himself he had let the warmth of friendship, the spark of life, work its way into his blazing heart. The embers that had once traced between himself and his friends were now an unstoppable inferno in their own right. Unquenchable. He would not throw away his soul in the pursuit of vengeance. He had those he still cared about, and they would storm the gates of any hell at his side.

Flames were racing over his skin, but the warmth was soothing. There was no pain. Perhaps it wasn't vengeance he'd waited his whole life to feel... it was only the purity of this fire.

* * *

><p><em>Black Lion. <em>

_Heart of nobility. _

_Guardian of storm and space. _

_Awaken._

* * *

><p>Keith remembered the storms. It had been storming the night his parents died, the morning his uncle woke him and herded him out through the rain and the darkness. Yet by the next morning, those violent spring rains had brought the garden once tended by those dead soldiers to life. At that moment in his young life he'd come to see the maelstrom as a harbinger of change. Not an ill omen. The storms which brought death to some brought life to others.<p>

He had become the stormcloud, silent and ominous. He watched. He waited. Biding his time, building his strength, ensuring that his path was correct. But when his decision was made he struck, faster and more decisive than lightning, and woe to all who tried to stand in his way. His commands were the shattering roar of thunder, rare but impossible to ignore. Never again would he wake, staring up at the blackness of the clouds, mourning deaths outside his grasp. No. The determination would be his.

Electricity was crackling through his body, his hair standing on end as he caught the glow of his eyes in his monitors. This world had found salvation in storms once. He would ensure that salvation endured.

* * *

><p><em>All become one.<em>

_One becomes all._

_My name... is Voltron._

_I awaken._


	14. Awakening

**Arusian Crusade: Deployment  
><strong>Chapter 13: Awakening

_I hereby declare the official soundtrack for this fic to be Nickelback's "When We Stand Together," because every fanfic needs a soundtrack, right?_

* * *

><p>Cossack stared at his monitors, unwilling to believe what he was seeing. For a moment he forgot that he was in command of a Supremacy dreadnought. Forgot everything in his life that had led up to this point. All he knew was visceral horror as the energy which had blocked his sensors faded, and the devil itself stepped onto the battlefield.<p>

"Commander..." Atorin's voice snapped him out of the shock, just slightly. "Commander, is that... can that be...?"

It could be. It _was_. The lion demon of legend.

"Voltron..."

_Impossible_. He shook his head, trying to clear it. He was Cossack the Terrible, lord of the _Ebon Flame_, one of the most promising officers in the Ninth Kingdom's military. He did not know fear. And yet he and his crew were not trained to fight myths. To stand against demons.

"It can't be Voltron!" Telzar blurted out. "It _can't_ be! Sarga shattered him!"

_Shattered. Not obliterated_. Every detail of the old legend was sharpening in his mind. Studying the ancient god he realized certain aspects were off. The colors... _of course_. The lions. The damnable, unkillable lions. Five of them. They had vanished into the energy, and Voltron had emerged. _Shattered into five pieces, each with the head of a lion._

Somehow... somehow the Arusians had raised the fallen god from his grave. The lions had not been a cheap ploy, but the heralds of hell.

Golden light flared in Voltron's eyes, and it turned, staring into the sky and seeming to pierce the _Ebon Flame_'s armor with its gaze. For an instant Cossack made eye contact with the demon. Only an instant, then it was moving, turning its focus to the robeast. But that instant had been long enough.

This was no time to try to puzzle out the answers. He had to save his people. Drules did not fear death, but now there was so much more than mere death at stake... an all out retreat was a disgraceful order, one he'd never had to give before, but who could question him? He doubted King Zarkon himself would act differently in this case.

"_Ebon Flame_ to fleet, this is Commander Cossack. All units, full retreat. Set a return course for Korrinoth. Do not engage the demon. Strigoi, you will cover us. Sell yourself dearly, in the Supremacy's name!"

"As you say. You run. I fight. They break!"

_We run? Thoroughly tactless. _Cossack decided, as the _Ebon Flame_ burned to the edges of the Arusian atmosphere, that he didn't care much for robeasts. It made him feel much less guilty about leaving this one behind.

_You run_. The words kept playing over in his mind. _You run_. A mere robeast calling him out. It was almost worse than the thought of bring this news back to his lord. _You run_.

Just before reaching the jumpgate one of the destroyers had ripped open, the commander made up his mind. To retreat was still a disgrace... but... his courage was beginning to work itself up again, and this act might be able to be redeemed. "Full stop."

"Sir?" Atorin just barely kept his tone on the better side of insubordinate. "Sir, respectfully, I must point out that you just ordered a full stop."

"Yes. We will observe from here. Be prepared to open a gate at the first sign of the demon's attention." His cold tone made it clear he would permit no further discussion on the topic.

"...Aye, sir."

Though he expected his orders to be met with absolute obedience, Cossack had never believed that a commander should be an enigma. He owed his people an explanation, and when they showed their discipline by not questioning him further, he gave it. "We are still warriors of the Drule Supremacy. Our first responsibility is to our kingdom and its people." His eyes glowed softly. "We will not challenge Voltron here. But we will observe, and learn what we can, so that when the time comes that we _must_ face him... it will be the lion demon, and not those under our protection, who will be consigned to the realm of the damned."

* * *

><p>When Sven opened his eyes the world had changed. And he could feel it in the others, as well.<p>

He could... feel it?

Yes. Exactly that. He could sense the presence of every one of them, as if the waves of energy racing through his blood were not confined to his own veins but flowing through the entire team. It defied any but the barest fragments of description... and he knew it would have defied imagination at any other moment.

"Guys..." Keith started to speak, stopped. Thought better of it, because he wanted to express more strength than that. Usually Sven could read his friend anyway, but there was an extra touch of certainty now. Their commander tried again. "Is everyone... back?"

They were, but nobody answered. Nobody had to.

They knew.

Black Lion drove the first, tentative movements. Testing. Staring up at the warship, then looking back down at the robeast. Stepping forward.

Remembering that he was piloting part of an ancient war machine, Blue Lion's pilot seized his controls again, getting ready to wrestle with the mess that was omega formation, though at least it would be a little easier now that he could fully visualize what was...

He was halfway through mentally grumbling about it when he realized that Voltron was advancing, slowly but surely, as effortlessly as if he were still flying alone. Pulling to a startled halt he struggled to make sense of it. _How...?_

"If anyone's interested in the technical details," Pidge commented in a voice that sounded more than a little shaken, "we've got a psionic current running through this robot that could make a Tenra jealous."

Sven didn't know what a Tenra was, but... wait, yes he did. A psychic race that inhabited Balto. But he _shouldn't_ know that. He'd never known that.

_Psionic current..._

_Of course._

Suddenly all the sensations drew together into a coherent whole. It wasn't just logical, it was simple, so simple it was hard to imagine a time when they'd found this confusing. He reached up to open a channel to Hunk, but stopped midway as he realized there was no need to. They didn't need to talk. He just _knew_. Knew what the pilot of the other leg was going to do, without having to ask, without having to think about compensating or balancing or any of the nonsense they'd agonized over in the sims.

Through inches of metal and meters of open air he could _feel_ Hunk coming to the same realization, and then they were moving again. Voltron was moving. There were no words, just a sense of action. Reaction. Coordination. They broke into a run.

It was _beautiful_.

"The ships are retreating," Lance reported. Sure enough, the _Ebon Flame_ was ascending, while the remaining destroyers were turning around and burning the other direction at full speed. "Let's get 'em."

"Not with the robeast still on the ground. That has to be our first priority."

"Killjoy."

"You mean you're not going to enjoy this?"

By way of response, Voltron raised its right arm and bathed the robeast in flame as it rushed at them. Red Lion's elemental cannon was formidable in its own right, but the inferno it unleashed in formation made all its attacks so far look like child's play. "You know, chief, you might be onto something there."

The robeast stumbled back, howling at the insult, looking to recover, but they weren't about to give it time if they could help it.

Blue Lion's comms crackled. "Brace yourself, buddy." Hunk's words were filled with a dangerous enthusiasm and Sven braced as instructed, eyes and hands darting over his controls as he understood instinctively what he was bracing for. Voltron took a flying leap forward, landing just before the robeast, pivoting on its right leg and landing a brutal roundhouse kick with its left. The beast staggered again and fell.

"Aww, man, you guys. That was _sweet_."

Sven drew back slightly, shaking his head to clear it. He wasn't near as dizzy as he was pretty sure he ought to have been, but that maneuver would take some getting used to. He had the distinct sense Hunk was regretting it a little bit too. "Commit it to memory, Lance. Not happening again."

"Extra shock dampeners, little buddy," Yellow Lion's pilot pitched in, sounding queasy. "Put that on the list right after the IFF."

"You got it." Pidge sounded amused. "Is it my turn to play yet?"

"You guys know we're in combat, right?" Keith sighed. "Is it entirely necessary for all four of you to act like little kids with a new toy?"

Three very emphatic replies of "Yes!" rang over the comms. Taking pity on his commander, Sven opted not to say anything, though he couldn't help a smirk. _Pretty much_.

"Okay, I give up then. Have at it, Pidge."

Voltron's left arm shot out and Green Lion's eyes glowed, stitching a series of laser wounds across the downed robeast's chest, then the turret on the lion's back—now Voltron's wrist—glowed with emerald energy. Shrieking in rage the monster got back on its feet, barreling forward, only to run straight into the plasma blast and change its shrieks to pain.

"Aren't you gonna try anything, Keith?"

"Of course. I just didn't want to get in the way of your fun." Leaping back, Voltron spread its arms and released a cross-shaped burst of golden energy from the Arusian crest on its chest. Rather than detonating on impact the cross simply stuck to the robeast when it landed, and it froze in its tracks, howling a protest.

"I'd like to revise my previous complaint," Lance chuckled. "This is _way_ better than shooting a bunch of silly warships."

"Let's not get overconfident, okay?"

"Who's overconfident? We're not overconfident. We're just that damned good."

* * *

><p>"They did it... they did it!"<p>

Coran stared at the monitors, hardly willing to believe what he was seeing. He'd known what to expect, of course. Better than anyone else alive on Arus at that moment, he had known what to expect. Yet the reality was so far beyond the expectations he felt like he may as well have been ignorant. "They did," he agreed in a whisper.

"Father was right..." Allura closed her eyes. "Something's changed, Coran."

The advisor cocked his head, looking from the princess to the battle and back again. The winged knight still seemed to be manhandling the robeast, and sensors indicated the Drules had fled—the dreadnought was observing from high atmosphere, but there was no sign of its fleet. "What do you mean?"

"Something's changed. In the castle. In Arus. In Voltron..." A faint aura was gathering around her, though as best he knew she'd performed no rituals. "I... it will become more clear when they return to the castle, I think. I hope. But there's something here that didn't exist a few moments ago..." She looked up and rubbed her eyes, wincing. "It's beyond me."

Many things were. It was only natural; she just didn't accept such limits. Allura was eighteen years old, and her spirit talking abilities were more advanced than many mystics twice her age, but she was still so impatient when she reached something beyond her capabilities.

"Princess, try not to strain yourself."

"I know." Sigh. "It's just maddening to be here _watching_ when they're out there fighting for our world..." Her eyes widened slightly. "...I need to talk to Father!"

"Princess—"

She darted out of the control room before he could finish asking what she was talking about, and Coran shook his head, sighing himself. Trying to keep Allura from anything she wanted to do was usually hopeless, but couldn't she at least give him some hint of what was going on?

Watching her disappear, he caught sight of a silver and blue glint against the console. She'd left her bow behind.

_Her bow?_

Every time she'd felt threatened, for as long as Coran had known her, the princess had gone to that weapon and clutched it as if it held all her salvation. As if she could single-handedly vanquish anything with that heirloom in her grasp. To leave it behind here, _now_, despite the fact that a robeast was locked in combat only a few miles away...

"Something's changed," he murmured with a nod. "Much has changed."

* * *

><p>Something about being used as a punching bag for a robotic demigod just didn't seem to be sitting well with the robeast. Not that they were really giving the ugly thing much choice in the matter, but when Voltron charged again it managed a dodge, firing a spread of rockets from two launchers at its waist which knocked its opponent a bit off course.<p>

"Still got some fight in him, huh?" Lance's eyes narrowed. "Let's see about that." With Red Lion driving the action, Voltron lunged and brought both its fanged fists down on the monster's face with a fearsome clang. "Oof." The blow left his head ringing, just slightly. Hunk was right about needing those extra shock absorbers.

"No more of that," Pidge suggested.

"Yeah."

Reeling from the blow, the robeast backed off again, firing several more rockets to cover its retreat and launching a pair of plasma bolts for good measure. One of the bolts scraped along the outside of Voltron's right leg, driving into the hole already present in Blue Lion's side, and Sven cried out as the robot stumbled.

"Sven! You okay?"

No comment, but he could sense the other pilot working to recover, and a second later they were in the air. Blue and Yellow Lions both opened their jaws, sending a swarm of missiles right back at the enemy—a spiral of light rockets from Blue, one huge explosive from Yellow, all punching into the robeast's side and tearing the previously wounded wing right off. "That," Sven hissed with a hint of pain still in his voice, "is called giving better than you get."

"Good habit to get into."

Howling in defiance, the robeast pulled back and activated its plasma cannons again. But rather than firing the usual bolts it simply let the energy stream out into the air. Taking on a different form and solidifying.

Something sparked in the back of Lance's mind as they watched the plasma forge itself into a pair of searing, glowing blades. Something... "Pidge, you felt that too, didn't you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did."

He couldn't explain what it _was_, exactly, but he knew his incoherent thoughts were mirrored in the mind of the other arm's pilot. Something about the sword. And something about the sims. That maneuver they'd discovered where they scythed just past each other and brought the holographic robeast down in one blow.

The image of Voltron that Coran had shown them had a sword. Yes. That was it.

_We've got a sword!_

"Guys, brace!"

Voltron planted its feet in the ground, staring down the robeast as it tested the weight of its new weapons and moved forward. Lance mostly ignored it. Red Lion gave a roar, and he could hear Green echoing the sound as the two outright slammed into each other. It probably ought to have been painful, but something seemed to have blunted the impact. Something... the outside of his cockpit took on a vivid glow, and when Voltron drew its hands apart Red Lion's jaws were no longer empty.

"Those are not swords," Lance mocked as the robeast stopped short. _"This_ is a sword." Voltron lunged and he slammed the gleaming blade down on the beast, which just barely managed to parry with a roar that could only have been fear.

"Oh. We're right-handed," Pidge observed, sounding mildly disappointed.

"You wanna try it out?"

"I think we'd better go with what this thing gives us right now."

"Probably true."

They advanced, though in truth Lance wasn't fully comfortable with the sword himself. What the hell did he know about sword fighting? Only what he'd learned from watching Keith and Sven. The weapon was a little clumsy; he'd rather have just landed some more punches, but the fact that his ears were still ringing from the last time said that was a bad idea. He'd just have to get used to it.

He could learn. Oh, he could learn. Because this was pretty much awesome, and he was going to make the most of it.

Voltron stormed forward, blade flashing.

* * *

><p>"Father." Allura knelt before the tomb, eyes darting over the candles, desperately trying to find the calm required to perform the ritual correctly. Her heart was pounding uncontrollably, her blood racing so swiftly through her veins she swore it would pull her apart any moment.<p>

Voltron. She had seen Voltron reborn, watched the savior of Arus enter battle and strike fear into the hearts of the monsters who'd razed her planet. The glory of it was beyond description. But the glory was not Voltron itself... it was something deeper.

There was something about the wording of her thoughts, something pertinent. It was reaching out to her mind and soul, tantalizingly elusive, threads of knowledge that proved impossible to pin down. Voltron reborn. Voltron _reborn_...

"My daughter." King Alfor appeared in a haze of pale flame. "You have never before come to me with such elation."

"Father! Voltron has reawakened!"

He studied her carefully, with pale, colorless eyes that had once been warm and brown as polished star oak. "The assembly was successful?"

"Completely successful. The five warriors... Father. Something happened out there. It's driving me mad trying to make sense of it, but..." She shook her head, trembling in frustration, unable to even put what she'd felt into words. "Arus has changed."

"Arus," King Alfor said calmly, "is now under the protection of an entity never before known to this universe. What you sensed was not a _re_awakening, Allura."

She blinked. That didn't seem to make any sense at all. "But Voltron..."

"The ancient knight known as Voltron was a construct of immense power," he explained. "But it was a construct and nothing more. Forged of a mysterious alloy, enchanted by unknown sorcery, and programmed to battle the First Empire. The Drules attributed godhood to this machine because they knew nothing of its truth."

Hearing that Voltron was _just a machine_ made Allura uneasy. But suddenly things were starting to fall together in her mind. _Reborn_. Yes. That was it. _Not reborn... only born_. "It's become something more."

"Yes. We theorized about this during the reforging. The mystical and technological elements led to certain... unexpected interactions. Adding pilots to what was once an autonomous machine _was_ expected to produce further anomalies." He shook his head. "It would have merited much study."

She stared, trying to comprehend. It had never been her place to pry into the project, and she'd had very little interest in the technical details anyway. Now she wished she'd paid more attention when Prince Acamar spoke of its brilliance. "Voltron is tied to Arus, and the pilots are tied to Voltron... I could sense that much, but... what does it all mean?"

"I cannot say."

The words shocked her more than anything else she'd heard so far, perhaps even more than anything that had happened over the last day. She'd always been able to count on her father for advice, no matter how busy he was when he lived, and even from the grave. "Father...?"

"I cannot tell you the true nature of the bond, because even I do not know. But the journey is not mine to make, regardless; it belongs to Voltron and the warriors who awakened him." Her father's gaze fixed on her and for the first time since his death—for the first time since she'd started to walk this mystic path—she felt she was speaking to a truly living soul, not simply a shadow. His voice softened. "And the journey belongs you as well."

"Me?"

Alfor nodded. "Guide them. You can see beyond the flesh and metal, find the truth which binds them to each other and this world. They will need you, Allura."

"But I... how can _I_ guide _them? _I'm no leader. I'm no warrior."

"Perhaps not in training. But you know what lies within your heart. And you will do as you have always done. You must fulfill your duties in the manner you believe is right." His image was fading. Allura was losing her grip on the ritual as exhaustion set in. "I will not tell you to make me proud, my daughter. You have already done this, and always will. Follow..."

The flames died.

"Father!"

Allura stood, staring at the place where Alfor's ghost had hovered for what felt like an eternity. _Guide them... in the manner I believe is right..._ she clenched a fist and was slightly startled when she realized her hand was empty. She'd left her bow in the control room.

Thinking of the weapon made her think of Pidge. His easy suggestions as to how to improve her aim, as if she were some warrior of equal standing, not a princess with a grand title and no practical experience. She thought of Lance, his cheerful smirk as he invited her to speak to them as a friend, without formality.

_As I believe is right._

There was only one way to do it, then, wasn't there?

* * *

><p>Keith couldn't explain why, but he was uneasy about the battle as it progressed, Voltron slashing away with its ornate blade at the robeast which stumbled back in disarray. It was parrying for now, but clearly on the defensive. The battle was well in hand, or so it seemed. But something...<p>

The beast suddenly ducked under a strike and lunged for them. _Move! _He yanked back on his own controls, fighting to pitch Voltron to the right. But at the same time he could feel Sven and Hunk's instincts tugging them back and left, respectively, and the machine crashed to the ground.

That was it, he realized as the fall worked to their advantage—briefly—causing the monster's attack to sail harmlessly overhead. Being psychically bound as they seemed to be wasn't enough. Sure, they knew what the others were trying to do. But when two attempted actions conflicted...

It wasn't enough to just _know_.

_All right, commander. Time to earn your place_. No more leaving everyone to their own devices. His eyes narrowed as Voltron stood, whirling on the robeast, sword held cautiously before it. "Everyone follow my lead. Stay still."

The robeast was charging again, plasma blades blazing, and he could tell Lance and Pidge were struggling not to take a swing at it. "Keith, come on, this is not the time to be sitting back and watching."

"Wait for it." Closer. He could see the patterns in the beast's movements, how it was shunning defense in hopes of getting in that one crippling blow that would change the course of the battle. They would have a split second to move. To counter with a killing strike of their own. If only they had the patience...

"Keith!"

"Wait for it!"

They were uneasy. _C'mon, guys_... they should know what he was doing. They did know what he was doing. And that was keeping them in line, for the moment. _Trust me and we can end this_.

"Almost..."

"Dammit, Keith, cut with the fancy maneuvers, we've got this!" Lance broke, Red Lion lashing out with the sword. Hunk stepped into the strike, but Sven and Pidge resisted. Black Lion went nowhere. And the sword went flying to land several hundred yards away as the monster's spikes deflected the clumsy attack.

The robeast's blades stabbed straight into Voltron's chest in a wash of electricity and plasma, and Keith screamed as the energy poured into him as if he'd been the one stabbed.

He was vaguely aware of Blue Lion kicking the monster off, then Sven's voice came over the comms with a trace of panic. "Weapons are down."

"Same." Hunk sounded less worried, more angry.

Red Lion had reached out to let off another burst of flame, but nothing happened, and to his credit Lance gave up on it quickly and helped Voltron scramble to its feet. "Got nothing here either."

Deciding he could yell at the team about discipline later, Keith struggled to catch his breath again as the energy feedback faded. Right now they just had to focus. Work as a team and end this battle. "It's the sword," he realized as he studied his consoles. "It's drawing all our weapon power." _Of course_. He remembered now, training under omega protocols, noticing that exact same mechanism when Lance and Pidge pulled into their curious maneuver.

"Can we get rid of it?"

"Trying... no. Not remotely. Got to get it back first."

"What Pidge said. And, uh. Mr. Big-Ugly-and-Snarly is kinda coming at us again."

Keith nodded. _Okay. No weapons. We've still got this_. The martial arts _were_ sort of his thing, after all. "With me this time, guys. All of you. Trust me."

A private channel crackled. "Learned my lesson," Lance admitted grudgingly. "All you. For now."

_For now. _Despite himself, Keith actually chuckled. His friend wasn't going to change. He should know that by this point.

The robeast was charging again and he focused, watching. Waiting. It clearly thought it was pressing its advantage, but the first successful blow might have made it overconfident. And overconfident enemies were easy to defeat.

They'd just proved that themselves, hadn't they?

"Wait for it," he whispered, and he could feel them all bracing. This time they did trust. It wasn't just Lance who'd learned his lesson... as time passed and the battle continued they were _all_ becoming more comfortable. With the formation, with the controls, and most importantly with the sense of each other's thoughts that whispered in each pilot's mind.

Unity. They'd been learning it all this time. And now it was their lifeline.

The robeast closed in, shrieking in triumph as its target stared it down, motionless.

"Now!"

Two gleaming blades of plasma arced down on a path to sever Voltron's arms from its body, but Red and Green Lions moved up, sinking their fangs into the monster's wrists in a spray of red-violet blood. Bracing itself against the beast Voltron kicked with both its legs, crushing the spikes on the beast's chest and sending it back with a scream.

The damaged Blue Lion gave out from the shock of the landing, sending Voltron briefly to its knees, and Sven snarled a few things in Japanese that Keith recognized as truly vulgar.

"Dude." Hunk sounded amused. Perhaps a little impressed. "Is _that_ the sort of stuff you're saying when you go all Norwegian on us?"

"Oh, shut up." Covering from the embarrassment—Keith could tell his friend was embarrassed, but not if it was from the fall or the swearing—Sven followed up with the eminently reasonable suggestion, "Wouldn't this be a good time to get the sword?"

"Right." Sprinting to its left, Voltron lifted the weapon and turned in time to see the robeast charging again. But it was moving sluggishly. Wounded. The plasma blades were gone, and it was howling in pure desperation. "Let's finish this." Driving the action himself, Keith focused on the longsword they were holding. Not his preferred style of blade, but he could wield it.

And it might not hurt to let Pidge in on the action, anyway.

"Know what's better than a one-handed sword?" Lance asked as his commander's intent became clear, the smirk coming through in his voice. "A two-handed sword!" Keith just snorted as Voltron raised the blade over its head with both hands, leaping at the robeast and bringing the sword down in an overhead strike that split the snarling monstrosity cleanly in two.

"I like that way a lot better than being right-handed," Pidge agreed cheerfully, as the remains of the robeast crackled and burned around them.

Keith shook his head. He wanted to tell them to cut it out. That his orders were not negotiable, that they'd better not get used to just doing what they liked. But he'd never been suited for such a style of command. He needed their input, even if they sometimes made him want to just bang his head on his consoles and scream in frustration. As they fought together, they would learn _together_.

And Voltron... it was so clear that Voltron did depend on all of them. Working with each other. Trusting each other.

With that trust they stood victorious.


	15. Name of the Pride

**Arusian Crusade: Deployment**  
>Chapter 14: Name of the Pride<p>

* * *

><p>Pidge walked back to the shuttle slowly. The feeling was gone now, or at least it was gone to a degree. Not completely. He could feel Green Lion's eyes on him, which was peculiar since it wasn't even facing him, but at the same time he knew it wasn't the machine watching over him anyway. It was something more, something deeper...<p>

The battle was already fading in his mind. It didn't matter. Something had changed out there between the team, changed forever, and _that_ was what mattered.

He couldn't sense the others anymore, but he knew they would all come together again, the next time they fought, in that instant where the lions joined as one. And his sense of Green Lion itself was not so simple. As he rode the shuttle back beneath the forest, staring at the earth and roots around him and trying to pin down the feeling, he realized it was purely intellectual that he recognized the lion's presence at all. It was just a sense of... rightness. _Wholeness_. As if the whirling winds had settled into a part of his soul that he'd never before realized was empty.

The shuttle pulled to a halt much too quickly for his mood, and he left it rather grudgingly. At the bottom of the boarding shaft he took the zipline bar and gave it a sharp yank, watching it snap back up to the top of the chute. Without him. The idea was to ride it back up, of course, but he wanted a little more time alone than that, so he took the stairs which encircled the shaft instead.

So Voltron had a psi link.

The link made so much _sense_. Really, now that he thought about it more, he couldn't imagine how the machine could possibly function without one—not with five pilots each trying to control one part of a single unit that had to move with some degree of coordination. It wasn't the principle that bothered him. It was just...

It reminded him of home.

Of Chip.

The genetic interactions of crossbreeds were very poorly understood. Why bother to understand it? There were so few of the wretches running about. Knowing more about them might _encourage_ them. Gods forbid. What Pidge knew was that his Sryka side was dominant, that he'd emerged from the halfblood roulette as small and quick and crafty and decidedly not psychic. Even less psychic than the average full-blooded Sryka, who at least developed passive shielding given that they shared their world with accomplished telepaths.

Chip was different; Chip displayed more of his Tenra blood. Enough to have some hints of psychic ability, but not enough to learn to control them. He lived in a constant fog of low-level psi energy, easily blocked out by any Sryka or Tenra short of a newborn... but entirely unblockable for Pidge.

He still remembered the jolt so clearly. That moment that could not be forgotten because it had become a part of him... what had flared between them the first time they met was a spark that had melded minds and souls. And from that moment on he and Chip had known they were brothers, no matter what blood actually flowed through their veins.

What had happened when they formed Voltron felt entirely too much like that. It almost seemed like a violation.

Could something so spectacular really be a violation?

Pidge didn't let people in easily. And as for the few he did... well, even then he would only permit so much warm and fuzzy _caring_ to soften his edges, something Jyari, Chip, and Hunk had all learned sooner or later. And when he allowed such connections they came on his own time, his own choice. The link had blindsided him.

He really, really didn't like being blindsided.

But still... maybe it was okay. No, not maybe, he decided as he emerged from the chute into castle control and felt Hunk's worried gaze fall on him in an instant. The others took only another moment. He nodded to them, assuring them he was fine. And he meant it.

It was definitely okay... to have other brothers.

* * *

><p>The control room was becoming uncomfortable. It wasn't the fact that none of the pilots could maintain eye contact for more than a few moments. It wasn't the way Coran kept looking at them like he wanted desperately to speak but couldn't find the words. It wasn't the fact that each of them kept glancing to their launch chutes as if they'd left something precious behind.<p>

All of those facts did play a part.

But what was getting to Keith was the _silence_. This wasn't the calm quiet he usually preferred, a quiet that spoke of observation and biding time. No... this was a miserable, stifling silence that seemed to have settled over the castle and become utterly unbreakable. Even Pidge, returning much later than the rest of them, seemed to have been immediately caught under its spell. Nobody asked him what had taken so long. He didn't volunteer anything.

This couldn't continue. "Coran." His voice was shockingly loud in his own ears. "Where's the princess?"

"She went to the catacombs to talk to her father," the advisor answered, perhaps a little too quickly. Perhaps he, too, was suffocated by the silence. And it said something about the last twenty-four hours that Keith didn't find his statement remotely odd. "Shall I call her?"

"No, please don't bother her." Keith looked around at his team. They were all focused on him now, though none looked too enthused with the idea of having to actually meet his gaze, and he returned his attention to Coran. "Actually... is there somewhere we can go for, um, some privacy?"

"Of course!" Slightly too fast again, slightly too loud. He'd probably be glad to have the team and their tension move elsewhere for now. "_Most_ of the castle is empty, really, but... here." Pulling up what appeared to be a map of the castle on the monitors, he pointed to a large area on the ground floor. If Keith wasn't much mistaken, the area had a hole in it right now. "The western auxiliary hangar suffered a partial collapse when we were attacked. What's left of it is stable, but it's a maze of partitions and debris. Nobody goes down there."

"Thank you. We just need to discuss a few things, we'll be back." Gathering his team by sight—none of them seemed the least bit inclined to argue anyway—Keith headed out of the control room and started walking west.

The half-collapsed hangar was precisely what Coran had said it would be, right down to two engineers and one structural mechanics minor assuring him the place was stable. Hunk put it best, in his usual fashion. "If it were gonna fall down any more, it would've gotten it over with a long time ago."

"Exactly that."

"What they said."

They picked their way through makeshift walls and fallen stone until reaching what looked like it must have been a major support arch; now it was a semicircular barrier, ten feet high, offering an invitingly snug and secure place to sit and talk. And they needed to do a lot of talking. Keith led the group inside; Lance dredged up a piece of plywood to cover the entrance.

"I hereby dub this Fort Awkward," he declared, reaching up to pull his jacket tighter around himself. The only problem was that he was still in his flight suit and not wearing his jacket, so the motion just looked like the nervous gesture it was. "...Awkward," he repeated softly.

They had to talk, but their commander would be the first to admit he didn't know where to start. Before the tension could settle over them again he seized his one faint lead and ran with it. "Pidge, what can you tell us about psionic currents?"

Every member of the team understood exactly what that question really meant. _Somebody say something productive. Please._

Pidge grimaced. "Less than we'd all like me to, trust me. I can only give you what I've heard of Baltan terminology, I kind of skipped those classes at the academy, they didn't seem relevant at the time..." He seemed to realize he was rambling and winced. "A psionic current just means you've got more than one mind linked together. Sort of on the same wavelength. We definitely had one of those going." Emerald fog gathered in his eyes as his gaze lost focus; all his focus had been shifted to his mind. "I'm pretty sure it was just a functional link."

It didn't take a psychic bond to read the four confused stares that greeted that observation. "As opposed to what, one that's not functional?" Lance finally asked. "If it weren't functional I don't think we'd have noticed it, just saying."

"Sorry. A functional link is one where you're bound to achieve a purpose. Coordination. Like, say, figuring out that the right arm has no idea how to swing a sword and I'd better balance pretty aggressively." The little pilot smirked as his opposite number glowered at him. "You know you were asking for that."

"You know you don't always have to indulge me."

Keith resisted the urge to break up the teasing. Maybe they were here to talk business, but... they needed this. The banter _was_ business. Trying to figure out... how the hell did you react to people whose minds you'd just touched?

"So what _is_ the alternative to a functional link?" Sven asked softly. It didn't sound like he was trying to break it up either; he was just curious.

"Several. Emotional and communicative are the big ones. And communicative is out unless all of you just decided to mess with me in the middle of combat..." Blank looks again. Pidge sighed and leaned back. "Telepathy. I tried it right after we, uh, combined. Nobody answered when I asked you to, and nobody yelled at me when I tried calling you all some pretty unpleasant names—no offense—so I figured that answered that."

Their navigator stared up at the crumbling ceiling, a contemplative look in his eyes. "I didn't hear any of that... but I think you told me what a Tenra is."

"Really?" Pidge looked startled. "Huh. That might fall under functional. I mean, I'm really _not_ an expert on this, and I'd think information sharing would depend on how deep the psi link goes, that can vary... and would you all stop looking at me like that? I'm giving the best answers I can."

Four pilots quickly diverted their blank stares from their young companion yet again.

Hunk folded his arms across his chest. "Look, guys, the fact that we all got all psychic out there and could read each others' minds enough to not fall flat on our faces is _great_. And it's gonna make our lives a lot easier so I'm not sure what we're all complainin' about, but I'll be happy to talk about it all night and day if you'll answer one quick question for me first."

_Huh_. Keith cocked his head. The big engineer's words were impatient, but his tone was more thoughtful than anything. "Go for it, big guy."

"Did any of your lions talk to you?"

Everyone stared at him. He didn't seem to take it as badly as Pidge had, merely staring back with the faintest hint of challenge in his expression.

"...Mine did," Lance admitted finally. Softly. "I... I don't even remember what it _said_. But it was talking, and I swear I was on fire but it didn't even burn, and... I don't feel the link with you guys anymore. But I still feel _that_. When we landed I really didn't want to leave Red Lion, but now we're a mile away from the volcano and I still feel like I haven't left it at all."

The other pilot's words sparked something in Keith. Sparked was the word. Precisely the word, really. Electrical sparks, still dancing through him... yes. He did remember. Words without a voice that had whispered to him as the lightning washed over his skin. "Black spoke to me, too. It said..." But he trailed off as he realized he couldn't grasp those words any more than Lance had. "...I don't know... it just spoke."

Sven was gazing at the ceiling again. "We all heard them." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah." Pidge nodded. "We all did."

This time the silence was not so uncomfortable as just curious. Each of the pilots trying to come to grips with what they'd learned, what they'd experienced. For the first time in what felt like a very long time Keith didn't feel any great pressure to make a move, to be a leader. They sat in the silence and that was enough. He closed his eyes, focusing inward. _Black Lion._ When he reached to it he immediately felt an acknowledgment. No words, nothing resembling a conscious response... but a sense of presence. The lion was there.

Voltron.

What the hell was Voltron? What the hell were _they_ now?

"This goes so far beyond anything I could've dreamed of," he murmured.

Lance snorted. "Well considering the only things you dream about are combat drills and your latest black belt, that's not saying much."

"That is absolutely not true," Pidge countered before Keith could even begin to defend himself. "I happen to know the boss dreamed about chess multiple times while we were aboard the _Eclipse_. You know he was dreaming because he won once in awhile."

The commander's eyes narrowed. He could play this game. "Actually I was mostly dreaming about Go, and I could tell it was a nightmare if you ever came _close_ to giving me a challenge."

Hunk burst into laughter. "Oooh... man, that stung even from here, little buddy."

"Hey!" The little engineer shot his friend a wounded look. "Whose side are you on?"

"Relax, Pidge." Sven was using his most conciliatory tone, but a faint smirk had taken hold on his face. "Let him take some shots at us now so he can feel better next time he has to cheat in a cook-off against Nanny."

Hazel eyes lit with the sort of wrath that Hunk reserved for those who either kicked puppies or insulted his cooking. "Oh. It's. ON."

As a general rule, when they managed to drag even Sven into the banter, any attempts at serious conversation were over. Hopelessly over. But Keith's only regret at the moment was not having anything handy to throw at one of his teammates. Because he realized, as the big pilot railed about Nanny's inferior campfire knowledge, that the answers were here in front of him.

Everything had changed... and yet nothing had changed.

* * *

><p>Sven was pretty sure the meeting had gone well. Mostly. Hunk was threatening to never let him eat dinner again, but he could find ways around that if necessary.<p>

Still, he was on edge.

Blue Lion's presence was still on the fringes of his thoughts. It was going to take some getting used to, but it wasn't the least bit unpleasant. But something else was rather more aggressively tugging at his mind...

All the wonder and mystery that had come from forming Voltron did not erase what had happened before. Particularly when those earlier events had left him the weakest link. And he owed his commander, at the very least, an apology. So he waited for the team to scatter, then trailed after Keith until his friend realized he was being followed.

That really did not take long enough to suit his tastes. "Something bothering you, Sven?"

"This is going to be hard enough without you playing dumb, Keith. You know what's bothering me." He sighed. "I was stupid."

"Funny you should say that. I was working on getting myself to admit that you were right."

Well then. _That_ was about the last answer he'd expected. "But..."

"No, no, don't even start. You held the robeast off, and gave us time to knock out those fleets and save thousands of people who've already lived through one hell too many. Don't try to _apologize_ for that, for crying out loud." He paused, ice-blue eyes settling on Sven with a hint of worry. "But there's more to this, isn't there?"

This conversation was moving quite a bit more quickly than he'd hoped for. He was off balance, and started walking down the hallway to give himself some time to catch up. "Of course there is."

Keith fell into step beside him. "You had a little more than just saving people on your mind when you decided that was a great time to pull a Lance."

_Pulled a Lance, is that what we're calling it now?_ "A little more."

"So let's hear it."

He'd actually expected Keith to keep right on going until everything that had been running through his thoughts at the time was out in the open, and while he usually resented his friends proving they could read him like a damned datafeed, this would have been a great time for it. For awhile he just kept walking, until they reached an observation deck that looked out over the lake. The parallel between this and Lance staring at the volcano a few hours before was not lost on him.

_Pulled a Lance, indeed._

It bothered him that his friend was remaining silent. Maybe he just wanted to make him say it himself. Hopefully. But... "You really don't understand, Keith?" His voice came out as rather more pleading than he would've liked.

Pause. Keith gave him an apologetic look. "No. I really don't."

Sven sighed and looked away, clenching his fists against the tension starting to send shivers through his blood. "I just wanted to prove I'm _not_ here under duress. That I can fight and sacrifice as well as any of you no matter how I got here."

Without looking he could see the flicker in Keith's eyes. Not from any psionic currents or new bonds. Just from the way he caught his breath, the way he twitched that was faintly audible as his flight suit rustled, the way he reacted just the same as he always reacted when startled. "...No." His friend's voice was low and tense. "No. You don't even mean that. Tell me you don't mean that."

For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to say just that, just to get the distress out of the other warrior's voice. But he wasn't going to lie. "Is it so hard to believe?"

"No, it's not that, it's... it's... god."

They both knew perfectly well what it was. Because he _had_ entered the academy more or less unwillingly, and if he'd never been vocal about it he'd never really made a secret of it either. It was an easy joke, a convenient excuse. Everything from his poor marks in hand to hand combat, to skipping tactical theory in favor of letting Lance teach him to skateboard, to breaking curfew on a regular basis because he'd been out watching the water or the stars... it was all shrugged off with that answer. He was there under duress.

"You've been sitting back and taking those jokes for two _years_, Sven! Why the hell didn't you call us out earlier?"

"Because they were accurate earlier?"

Silence again. The theme of the day seemed to be that oppressive, uneasy silence. "...That simple, huh."

"Who said it was simple?" He turned to stare out at the water. "Just don't try to ask me when it changed. I can't answer that. But it's been coming on for awhile... when Pidge got in that bar fight, back at the academy, and you were telling me off about intervening. You said something about me being there under duress and I swear I could've punched you."

"You have a long memory."

"For some things. It's not one of my better traits." He had relatively little occasion to exercise the talent, but Sven could hold a grudge pretty well when called upon. Until those moments in Blue Lion when the ocean's darkness surrounded him, he wasn't sure he'd realized he was holding this one. "Someone had to pin that robeast down. What am I supposed to think when you tell me no? I was in the best position to do it, and I can fight just as well as the rest of you."

"I wouldn't have let any of the others take on a robeast alone either, you know that."

"But _you'd_ have done it."

Keith hesitated, as if he sensed he would probably be sorry if he answered that, but finally nodded because denying it wouldn't do any good anyway. "If it had to come to that, yes. I'd have done it. Better me than any of you."

There were times Sven couldn't fathom how their commander had actually ended up in command... his ability for leadership and inspiration couldn't be questioned, but his detachment was sorely lacking. But that was what made him Keith. That was what made him such a dear friend, even if it also made Sven want to slap some sense into him every once in awhile. "No, _not_ better you than us. You're our leader, you're too important to risk going off on your own like that. I'm your second, and you keep making me beg you to let me act like it."

They stared at each other. Lightning was dancing in Keith's eyes; he had noted that tendency every once in awhile before, when his friend was intent on something, but it seemed to have become so much clearer since returning from Voltron. "Well..." Cocking his head, Keith raised a hand and traced out the twin silver bars of the sergeant rank where they should have been over Sven's shoulder, though they weren't at all present on the Arusian flight suit he was wearing. "When I promoted you I was kind of hoping for advice and support, not suicidal tendencies."

"Who's suicidal?" Sven crossed his arms, arched a challenging eyebrow. "I'm still here."

"Barely."

True enough. There was no point trying to argue about how badly he'd done at the whole_ not getting hit by the robeast_ thing. "Fair point."

"But I don't think anyone else would have done any better."

He drew back, slightly, at the admission. "Just to be sure. Does that mean I'm forgiven?"

Keith met his eyes and nodded. "You were right... you _are_ right. I was lecturing you all about trust out there. But I've got to do better on that count too." He smiled faintly. "So we'll do that. I'll let you do your job. And since you're right that I can't babysit all of you all the time, your first assignment is to keep Lance under control. I can handle the rest of you."

Silence. But this silence wasn't discomfort, it was disbelief. "I hate you," Sven hissed, though even then it was impossible to hide his laughter. "I hate you so much."

"Yeah, I know. I'm pretty sure you hate all of us by this point." Keith grinned, tugged at his crimson shoulder armor, and shrugged. "Anyway, I'm going to go get this stuff off. You just remember this conversation next time Lance makes a fool out of himself..." His expression became serious again. "And don't ever, _ever_, think any of us question your loyalty again. Got it?"

"Got it." Sven watched Keith depart, a smile still playing over his face, then returned his gaze to the water.

Perhaps the Alliance wasn't his first love, but Arus wasn't so bad.

* * *

><p>Though he could find his way around most maintenance systems when he needed to, Hunk wasn't really an expert at programming. He preferred the hardware. Let someone else deal with code and numbers and things that could only be grasped in the mind; he would bang around with the solid stuff and hit it until it worked.<p>

Something about the lions' automatic repair systems was grating on him. Leaving repairs to a computer program? _Yuck._ Oh, there was plenty he could do to speed up the process. And he was clambering about in Yellow Lion's earthen den doing precisely that. Still... it was the principle of the thing.

As he finished bolting some new armor onto the lion's side, the plate seemed to be pulled into the chassis until it was seamlessly melded with the hull. And yellow. When Coran had said the colors were a byproduct of the elements, he hadn't realized that meant they were _innate_. It was all a little disconcerting, really...

After two more armor plates he'd had quite enough. "Know what, little guy? I wanna show all this automated nonsense who's boss."

His only companion in the cave squeaked. Swiss was sitting on his left shoulder, yellow eyes glowing brightly and providing most of the illumination for this project. Installing overhead lights into all the dens would be high on the to-do list. With another squeak, it moved to his other shoulder and chittered in Yellow Lion's general direction.

"Glad you agree. Now here's what we're gonna do. First you're gonna run up in there and plug into the yella fella's computers, and bring up the repair program."

Squeak. Hunk decided he definitely needed to bring Pidge's translator scanner next time he tried to work with one of the mice. The little engineer actually seemed to be grasping the basics of robot rodent language on his own already; he wouldn't miss it.

"Once you get in there, see that big ol' scar over Yellow's left eye?" The gash actually extended all the way from the back of the lion's head and ended halfway down its silvery muzzle. Nasty looking, but not deep or particularly dangerous; he suspected the Aleax's tracers had scorched it in. "Tell the program that's what the armor's supposed to look like, and to just leave it that way."

Though he couldn't understand the words, the concerned series of squeaks Swiss gave in response could only possibly be a question.

"Because it looks awesome and I like it that way, that's why." He picked up a few smaller bits of scrap metal that he'd brought in from the destroyed hangar. The scar would at least need a fresh layer of armor to be all shipshape. _Lionshape?_ _Whatever_.

He loved this assignment so much. And that was probably a good thing... looking at Yellow Lion, he found the thought of the assignment _ending_ to be absurd. At some point it had to, didn't it? Would they fight off the Drules for a little while then return to Earth victorious?

Somehow he couldn't see that at all.

* * *

><p>It took Lance awhile to make his decision, and that was unusual in itself. Typically he came up with an idea and acted on it before stopping to wonder if it was a <em>good<em> idea or not. Jumping the gun against the robeast had not been a good idea, so he was trying to tone it down a little. Such phases of caution usually lasted a solid day or two before he went back to his old ways.

But at least he tried.

In any case, he'd have had plenty of time to think things over whether he intended to or not, because Pidge could be awfully hard to find sometimes. Kid needed a leash. He finally found the little engineer outside on the edges of the forest, tossing throwing stars at falling leaves as the wind whistled over the ground.

"Hey squirt! What did those trees ever do to you?"

"Nothing, really. Are you gonna tell me to leaf them alone?"

Lance blinked. Had he not been preempted, there was actually a pretty fair chance he would have said precisely that. "Am I _that_ predictable?"

"No, not usually. But I would have been disappointed if you hadn't taken such easy bait."

"Too easy. Almost unworthy of me, really."

"I didn't think there were levels too low for you to stoop."

"Oh, there are. Just about eye level with you."

Pidge flipped one of the shuriken at him, and it brushed past his arm by less than a centimeter. "I _will_ rip your jacket, Lance, don't think I won't."

With a gasp of mock horror, Lance flopped out on the grass and leaned back against the trunk of the tree that his young friend was using as target practice. "I don't take it back, but I won't say it again. Truce?"

"Truce." Pidge tucked the rest of the stars away in a pouch at his side, then joined Lance on the grass. "What's up? Or did you just come out here to make fun of me?"

"Nah. I, uh... I'm pretty sure I'll regret this, but I actually came out here to ask you about psionic bonds."

Frown. "I told you guys everything I know about that already."

Lance shook his head. "No you didn't. I was actually listening to you back at Fort Awkward—"

"—That's a first—"

"—It really is." He threw his hands behind his head. "But I heard you jump on the telepathy thing and skip right over emotional psi links. And without getting way too touchy-feely about it, I'm curious about those."

That got him the very peculiar look he'd been expecting. It was one thing to add a caveat against touchy-feeliness, but as soon as the words _emotional psi links_ came up, there was only so much avoiding it. And he wasn't sure Pidge cared much more for all that cuddles-and-gumdrops nonsense than he did.

"They're complicated," the little pilot said at length, probably after reassuring himself that Lance was actually serious. "I didn't talk about them because I really don't know if we had one active or not. There's a lot of overlap... trust me, if we've got one, we _will_ all figure it out before long."

Lance had the distinct feeling the kid was dancing around something. But he didn't like being pressed himself, so he tended not to press others. "That isn't exactly why I was asking."

"No?"

No, though his actual reason might be even weirder. "I'm not all so worried about how we got linked to each _other_. But d'you think it's possible that maybe we made those, uh... emotional psi links meant in a totally not touchy-feely way... with our lions?"

Comprehension dawned in his companion's eyes. "...You said back in the hangar you didn't want to leave your lion after the fight."

"Hells no I didn't. Those few seconds when we formed Voltron and Red was talking to me, it was _incredible._ Didn't you feel it with Green? I swear it was even better than sex." Pidge shot him a startled look and Lance decided maybe he hadn't needed to say quite that much. "Uh. I guess you wouldn't really know about that analogy, would you."

Giggle. Lance hated it when Pidge giggled at his expense, because the sound usually meant something wicked was being plotted in that brilliant mind. "No. No, I definitely wouldn't. And does this mean you'll stop shooting those looks at Allura because you've got a metal cat to keep you happy?"

Yeah, he was _definitely_ going to regret this conversation. "Stuff it, squirt."

"I could make such a wonderful double entendre joke out of that if I weren't so interested in what you're actually saying about the lions."

_Thank God for small favors_. "I appreciate that. Truly. So what do you think?"

"I think you might be onto something." Pidge drew one knee to his chest and leaned over it, staring at the grass. "I definitely felt something with Green. And I still can feel Green's presence, if I try, which _would_ be typical of an emotional bond. I think."

"You think?"

"I told you I'm not an expert." Shrug. Pause. "I... I was actually thinking about this earlier, though. In the context of you guys, not the lions. Hadn't stopped to think there was more one bond at work..." His gaze clouded as he went from holding a conversation to thinking out loud. "Yeah, that would explain everything. One functional, one emotional, different links, different contexts. I think that's the answer."

"Great, we've got an answer. What exactly was the question you're answering, again? I don't think it's what I asked. And might I add you're sure sounding like an expert right now."

"I'm not! I just..." Suddenly the small pilot was peering up at him with a hint of something that wasn't quite suspicion, but wasn't quite not_-_suspicion either. "...Okay. I know a little more about emotional bonds than the other kinds, honestly. My brother and I have one. Kind of an unusual one, but it's definitely there, and what happened with Green Lion was similar. Very similar."

_His brother?_

Thinking back Lance remembered a vague mention or two of a brother, but Pidge tended to keep the details of his life on Balto quiet. Or at least the happier details. He'd always seemed perfectly content for them to know he was a despised crossbreed and a street thief, wearing his past struggles like a badge of honor. The good parts he held close.

Usually.

And he clearly hadn't been entirely comfortable sharing that, so Lance decided it was only fair to reciprocate. Besides, it was relevant. "Should I tell you why I'm asking about this?"

"I kind of figured it was idle curiosity..." He trailed off as if he was just then realizing what he was saying. "And as it's you, I probably should've known better, so I'd love it if you would tell me."

Much as he would've loved to protest the minor slight, Lance supposed idle curiosity really _wasn't_ his thing, so he just chuckled. But his expression became serious as he tried to find a way to explain. He'd told Sven this, but Sven had known so much already. And Sven was Sven, and Pidge _wasn't_ Sven, but then again, he'd told Pidge the basics too, hadn't he? "You remember what I told you on the _Eclipse_? About how the Drules destroyed my home and I was gonna punish them for it?"

Pidge looked mildly offended by that. "Of course I remember, Lance. You surely don't think I just go around _forgetting_ that sort of thing about my friends."

"...Sorry."

"No worries. Go on."

"I was kind of expecting ripping a few of their throats out would make me feel better, and it was definitely not working." He sighed. "Ever since my village was destroyed I expected hitting back was going to help, but it didn't. It was driving me crazy. Maybe literally. And then, I just, I don't know." He grimaced, looking for words. "It's like Red moved into that empty place inside me that I was trying to fill with corpses."

Pidge's eyes lit up with understanding... and he proceeded to completely ignore the part about Red Lion. "Oh, so that's why you've been acting so weird since we left Doom! Hunk and I were sort of wondering, but he said you probably wouldn't want to talk about it."

..._Am I that easy to read? Hells_. "You're serious? Even you guys noticed?"

"What do you mean 'even us guys,' you maniac?" Pidge snorted. "I bet Hunk's better at reading people than the rest of you put together. And I... uh..." He suddenly looked a little sheepish. "I listen to Hunk, anyway."

"Ohh. So Hunk's really the smart one, huh?"

"I did not say that."

"You didn't need to," he answered in a singsong voice, a smirk lighting his face. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. As long as you don't call me out for any further looks I may or may not direct in the direction of the lovely princess..."

"Oh, absolutely." The little pilot raised an eyebrow. "If Red doesn't mind you cheating on it, _I'm_ certainly not going to get involved."

Despite himself, Lance burst into laughter, pressing his head back against the tree's rough bark and watching the leaves fall. "Man... don't ever change, Pidge. Don't ever change."

Of course, he was fairly certain they'd all changed. Drastically. But the more things changed, the more things stayed the same, and there was nothing wrong with that at all.

* * *

><p>King Zarkon was seated on his throne, waiting for word from Arus. It seemed like it was taking much too long, and with every second that passed by he became more and more uneasy. The lions in the battle footage were powerful, yes, but surely they couldn't stand up to the forces Cossack had been able to turn against them. Let alone Haggar's hand-picked robeast.<p>

Could they?

As he waited the witch suddenly appeared before him, eyes so dim he could barely see them glinting beneath her hood. "Haggar?"

"Commander Cossack was unsuccessful."

The king frowned. Haggar was his most trusted advisor, and by far the most powerful sorceress in the Ninth Kingdom, let alone on Korrinoth itself. But she wasn't exactly within the chain of command. "He contacted _you?"_

"No, sire. He comes to deliver the news in person. But the void sees all."

It took all of Zarkon's formidable self-control to keep from raging. But he hadn't seized power and built this kingdom up from its chaotic ashes by losing his temper. Especially not at those who had no control over the situation. "I will hear your suggestions, Daughter of the Wyvern."

She bowed in acknowledgment of that title, reading the contained fury in his tone. "Sire, there is more you must know."

"Then out with it!" He allowed his calm to slip, just slightly. He had no patience for this. "The Nyx garrison reported that Commander Cossack took their entire destroyer contingent and two Aleax battlecruisers with him to Arus._ Battlecruisers_, Haggar. A full invasion fleet, plus the robeast you sent along to aid them on the ground, and they were defeated? This is no time to be enigmatic!"

For a few moments she just looked at him. Not that she was ever ruffled by his outbursts, but something about her seeming tranquility was starting to truly bother him. Perhaps even frighten him. The fact that Cossack had failed meant the lions were victorious.

What _were_ the lions?

"The lions were mere harbingers of a far greater power. Voltron the Destroyer has returned, and claimed Arus as his domain."

A gasp ran through the throne room as the members of the court heard that news, but their king didn't really hear it. Zarkon himself froze, eyes fixed on his advisor, mind replaying her words in a loop just to be sure they meant what he thought they meant. The two sentences narrowed down into five words. The core of the matter, all that was important. _Voltron the Destroyer has returned_.

"You have spoken to the goddess?" he asked when he could speak again. Haggar had waited out his shock patiently; if he didn't know better, he'd have said there was a flicker of sympathy in her glowing eyes.

"I have. The time is not right for the Unfathomable One to meddle in the affairs of mortals. But our warriors will enter battle with her blessing."

He nodded his understanding. Certainly nobody could expect Sarga to manifest now, to deal with the lion demon as she had once before. Not so swiftly. First it would be left to the Ninth Kingdom to pour their blood and sweat onto the battlefield in her name; they would prove themselves worthy of the goddess' intervention, or they would die trying.

Nodding a curt dismissal to the witch, he turned to another of his advisors who had been standing wordlessly at his side. The woman's eyes were wide with terror, but at her king's attention she dropped to one knee and attempted to sound composed. "My lord, do you wish something?"

He simply studied her for a moment. The attendant's name was Anzel, a minor Tyrusian noble who'd been sent to Korrinoth to serve her lord. She was quite attractive; her skin was as black as the void, setting off her red-gold eyes and flawless white fangs to perfection. A fitting armpiece for a king. But she'd proven herself to be calm and thoughtful, as well, and he valued her counsel far more than her beauty.

"Anzel. Speak the truth. Does the thought of Voltron frighten you?"

She blinked, her eyes darting around the room. Every other courtier and petty noble was staring at her now, and Zarkon could see craven relief in several faces that he hadn't put _them_ on the spot in such a manner. He took careful note of those. For the future.

"...Yes, my lord. I had believed the lion-god to be only a myth."

"Wise." He nodded. "Both of those positions are wise." She looked up, startled. "But hear this. All of you, hear this! Haggar is to be taken at her word. We must believe the lion demon _has_ returned. But remember that word... _returned_. Why was it necessary for him to return?"

A pause as she sorted out the question. "Because he was shattered in ancient times, when he rampaged through our worlds and provoked almighty Sarga's wrath."

"Just so. Remember that, remember it always! Voltron has been defeated before, and can be defeated again. Feel no shame in your fear. But conquer it, as we will conquer the devil." He turned his attention to another aide, this one a much lower-ranking servant. "Admiral Yurak should be preparing for his next mission; you will most likely find him aboard the _Death Defiant_. Send him to me immediately."

"At once, my king!"

Watching the aide vanish, Zarkon nodded in quiet contemplation. This would not be the end of his reign. This would not be the end of his kingdom.

* * *

><p>There was so little point in actually being on monitor duty right now. Keith knew that, but he was sitting in castle control anyway, staring at the blank screen and just taking the moments to refocus. He could've done this in his room... actually, he'd made the attempt to do just that. His presence before the monitors was not because of his soldier instincts. It was just that Hunk was snoring away in the bedroom next to his, and the walls really weren't sufficiently soundproofed.<p>

He'd ask the engineers about that tomorrow. Hopefully without having to tell Hunk _why_ he was asking.

The Castle of the Elements was secure, for now. Secure against any Drule attacks, in any case. Secure in its identity, that was something else entirely... he'd already heard a handful of castle staff, which probably amounted to the entirety of the castle staff, had started referring to the place as the Castle of Lions.

Footsteps from outside, and the door slid open. "Keith." Princess Allura entered the control room slowly. "I'd like a word." She was wearing a jumpsuit that could have been considered much more modest than the dress she usually appeared in.

It was still all pink. So maybe not so modest.

"Is something wrong, Princess?"

"No. ...But yes." She ran a hand over the consoles. "There's something I need you to understand before your assignment goes any further."

Keith didn't care for the sound of that, but her tone was more nervous than anything. He couldn't detect any displeasure in it, and she _had_ called him by his name rather than his rank. So he tried to keep himself from tensing up as he nodded. "I'm listening."

"Father has charged me with guiding you in your mission."

He wasn't sure what was so worrisome about that. "Of course. You're King Alfor's heir, Princess... we are yours to command."

"Yes, that's the problem."

_Okay. Didn't see that coming_. "What do you mean?"

"Please understand." She wasn't looking at him, wasn't looking much of anywhere. "I was third in line for rule of Arus. My training was in mysticism, not politics or combat—I was never meant to see the throne." Sigh. "I understand that my father was to command you, and you've transferred that authority to me. But I'm so poorly suited to lead warriors." She looked up, eyes glinting with a fierce determination that seemed to belay her words of self-doubt. _"You_ are the commander of the Arus Expeditionary Force... the _Voltron Force_. Command is your right, not mine."

..._Well then_. Keith was stunned, and did a very poor job of not looking stunned for at least a solid minute. The fact that she was a spirit talker probably just made it go from easy to insultingly easy to catch.

"Was that out of line?" the princess asked when he remained silent.

"No, no, it's just... um."

_Ugh. Smooth, commander. Real smooth._

But how to even word this? His conversation with Sven had made him realize several things about his style of command. The princess was touching on one of them... actually more like grabbing and brutally yanking on one of them. Ever since they'd arrived on Arus he'd been mentally flailing, just a little, and he'd finally come to understand why.

It wasn't _just_ a problem with delegating authority.

He sighed. "Can I speak frankly?"

"As I've said before, I'd much prefer that you did." A slight frown. "At all times."

True enough, she had said that, and perhaps someday he would convince himself to obey it. For now... _may as well go for broke_. "I didn't come here to _run_ a military operation," he admitted. "I'm used to having a superior officer giving me at least some guidance... and I mean, it's your planet. Which we've been on for all of two days. I'm not sure I'm comfortable with full command at this stage."

She considered this, then nodded. "I understand. My apologies; I didn't really think about what I was asking of you." She looked thoughtful. "But I didn't mean to imply I wouldn't give you any direction at all. And Voltron is a mystical entity, and on _that_ count I can guide you quite easily..."

_Good point. _Maybe they should've tracked her down in the catacombs after all, though he thought it was just as well the team had sorted the first moments out on their own. When she trailed off he gave her a searching look. "You make it sound like there's another 'and' at the end of that."

"Yes." The princess nodded. "I don't wish to command, but there is the other element I wasn't trained for... an element I must learn. Part of my duty as princess is to defend my people. I have to _fight_, Keith." Her blue eyes bored into his. "But I'd rather be a part of your team than superior to it, if that's a possibility."

_Interesting_. Interesting, yet somehow unsurprising, the more he thought about it. This was who she was... a gentle soul shrouded in the colors of death, seeking her own way on her shattered planet. And if she wasn't comfortable with the role she'd been thrown into, wasn't it his duty to help her find a better path?

Besides, he couldn't help thinking they were about to need all the help they could get.

"That, I think we can do." He smiled. "Welcome to the Voltron Force... Allura."


	16. Unholy War

**Arusian Crusade: Deployment**  
>Epilogue: Unholy War<p>

_Yep. Epilogue. But this isn't really the end... it's just the beginning...  
><em>_Many thanks to all who've reviewed or just read (and hopefully enjoyed) this little jaunt through the Voltronverse. And keep an eye out for part two!_

* * *

><p>Admiral Yurak met his lord in the throne room and was greeted with silence. Zarkon simply gestured for the admiral to follow him and swept out of the room, leaving several aides looking rather confused in their wake.<p>

To call this irregular was putting it mildly, but speaking without being spoken to seemed like a terrible idea right now. So Yurak followed until they reached the vast grand hall at the heart of Nightstone Fortress. It was an architectural masterpiece, a reception area and a museum in the same moment, and when the king entered without warning several hundred Drule citizens fell silent and bowed, retreating swiftly and wordlessly.

It was clear Zarkon had no desire for company.

He finally stopped at the southwest edge of the hall and gestured to an enormous painting, one of the finest masterpieces in the Ninth Kingdom's artistic history. A stunning rendition of Sarga, in all her verdant glory, manifesting before the shadow of the hated lion deity.

"Observe this, Admiral. Observe it well."

"The might of the goddess is captured most impressively," Yurak agreed. Art wasn't exactly his strong point—save for the art of battle, the dance of two armies fighting for position, the music of laser fire and cracking bone. Yet the bold strokes and vivid colors of the piece held a certain appeal to the gruff commander's mind. "But the shadow of the demon speaks only of fear. Are we to fear, sire?"

For a long time the king ignored his warrior, merely studying the painting as if it held all the answers to what had just happened on Arus. And perhaps it did.

"No. Of course not."

"Then I await your orders."

Zarkon nodded. "Our priorities will change," he said softly. "Pull all attack fleets back. I want a defensive perimeter established around our borders. Cover all military and industrial targets. Prepare a single assault fleet of your finest warriors; consult with Haggar to select a robeast. Arus is now your primary target, and will remain so until that knight is destroyed."

_Strange tactics_. "Sire..." Yurak knelt low. "If we redirect all of our forces to Arus we can—"

"—No." The king's eyes glowed faintly. "You've studied history, Admiral. You know that Voltron would never permit itself to be pinned down in that manner. Leave it an opening and we will begin losing worlds. We will not repeat the mistakes of the past." A pause as he looked to the painting again. "And you have seen the footage Commander Cossack brought us. You know the robeast he commanded would have been no match for the hated one at its prime, but Voltron seems to have become weak. You will meet it on equal ground, and you will shatter it as Sarga once did. In this way we will prove our strength to the rest of the Supremacy, and the fools of the Alliance."

_Ah_. It made a certain amount of sense when he put it that way. And certainly held an appeal that laying waste to a whole planet just to destroy one entity did not. The more overwhelming the force, the less glory for the victor, and it had always been Yurak's way to seek glory as well as victory. "It will be done, my lord."

Another pause. Longer, this time. "I don't know what Arus thinks they're playing at... I don't know if they've truly raised the ancient Voltron, or if this is some mockery designed to make us fear. But we will _not_ fear. I charge you with this duty and this title. Go, Yurak Lionbane. Teach them the price of their insult."

"As you command."

Long after Zarkon departed the grand hall, Yurak remained, looking at the painting himself. But not at Sarga, though she was the focus of the piece. He focused on Voltron's shadow. A shadow that had caused nightmares throughout the Ninth Kingdom for thousands of years. A shadow that was already sending new tremors of fear over Korrinoth, no matter how confident their king seemed, as word of the awakening spread.

_Lionbane_.

Yes. He would earn that name. He would bring the war to Arus, and he would slay this god.


End file.
